


Playing Gay

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Destiel Fluff, M/M, Teen AU, teen play au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean Winchester accidentally joins the school play, Cas Novak wants the lead, and lots of gay jokes are made. Love (which feels an awful lot like hate at first) ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Do You Accidentally Join The School Play?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen any play AU's for Destiel (I haven't checked any other pairings, but I just assume that they're scarce) so I thought I'd try my hand. You guys know all that shiznit about not owning any of the characters, not making any profit and whatnot, so, yeah, that stands for me just like anyone else.

He had meant to say, 'no freaking way!'

Honest.

"Mr. Winchester, are you listening to me?" Mrs. Patt asked. Dean looked up at her, almost quizzically. The close-cut, dyed red hair was no mask of her graying scalp, but Dean chose instead to focus on her wrinkly eyes. Yep, she was old. That weird purple skirt and shirt matching thing just reinforced the idea of her being some ancient principal, when really, she was only the drama teacher. With her thinly plucked eyebrows and her pursed lips surrounded by loose skin, covered by her much too hooked nose, Dean wasn't very comfortable being alone in a room with her. It was kind of like he was being stared down by a crazy-teacher-bird-lady.

"Um, maybe?" he said, because really, what was the point of it all? He was just the tiniest fraction of a speck in an ever-expanding universe that held everything, so what did it matter if he didn't read  _Romeo and Juliet_? Everyone knows the ending anyways, it's not exactly like a big hidden plot twist.

"Are you being smart with me, young man?" Mrs. Patt asked, pacing in front of his desk, her hands clasped together at the small of her back. She'd asked him to stay after for a moment, which really meant she wanted to give him detention, but didn't feel like staying after longer than a few minutes herself. But seriously, who even said 'being smart' anymore? How old _was_ this crazy hag?

"No, ma'am," Dean said, trying to play it safe in spite of himself. He didn't add the _I was just distracted by what large ears you have_. Little Red Riding Hood wasn't the way to do this.

"When I assign homework, I expect you to get it done. How much could you possibly have? Besides, there's plenty of time for you to finish your work at home or in a study hall. I don't want excuses. I just want you to get it done. Am I understood?" Mrs. Patt asked. She regarded him sternly, with a momentary pause in her pacing.

 _She definitely doesn't like me_ , Dean thought. He said, "There's a lot of homework assigned by every teacher this year. I know what happens in _Romeo and Juliet_. Everyone does. It doesn't seem like that big deal if I don't read it." He leaned across the desk to show that he wasn't intimidated by the crow.

"It's a classic Shakespearean work!" Mrs. Patt protested, throwing her flabby arms in the air. "Everyone knows about it because everyone is required to read it in high school! If you keep up this attitude, you're going to have a failing average, Dean."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It's just drama class," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking down at the ground. It was so stupid that he was forced to participate in something that was going to have no effect whatsoever on his actual life. Dean was going to be a mechanic. He didn't need to be able to recite Shakespeare for that.

"You're still required to take it," Mrs. Patt said softly, and maybe she wasn't so bad, but Dean just needed somebody to be pissed at for the moment.

"It's not like my life depends on this," Dean complained. "In relativity to the entire universe, how is a high school drama class going to make a difference?"

"Theater can make a lot of people very happy, Dean," Mrs. Patt replied matter-of-factly. "It's the little things in life, the things that make you happy, the things that keep you distracted from the big scary what-ifs of the world out there, that matter. And for a lot of people, theater can be one of those things. Why don't you try out for the play and give it a shot? I think you'll be surprised at the effect healthy teamwork and hard work can have on you."

Dean did roll his eyes this time. "May I go now?" he groaned, kicking his chair back and standing up. He slung his bag over his shoulder before Mrs. Patt stopped him. She held an aged hand on his shoulder, and Dean suddenly felt the urge to wash his jean jacket.

"Dean, I realize you're not in a very good mood," Mrs. Patt said quietly. Dean hated her for sounding so assuring. Why couldn't she be as inconsiderate as he wanted her to be? "This class is just to help students branch out and see what they like. But if you don't put in the effort and actually give it a chance, you could be missing out on a whole different possibility for your future. I want you to read  _Romeo and Juliet_ , and write me a quick summary so I know you did it over the long weekend. If you don't, I'm going to have to put your grade in as a zero, and based on your other grades, you'll fail the class. I'm sure that neither of us want that."

She sent him away with a pat on the shoulder that Dean felt long after he walked out the front doors of the high school.

 

 

Well, Dean couldn't let this stupid assignment ruin not only his grade, but his weekend too, so as soon as he got home he went to his room, flopped onto the bed, and started scanning the pages. At first, he wasn't really paying attention to a word he was reading, but then he had to admit that after struggling through deciphering all the made-up words of Shakespeare, it did get a little interesting.

And then he looked over at the clock and realized that it was nearly eight o' clock and that he and Sammy hadn't even had dinner yet. So he (totally not reluctantly) put  _Romeo and Juliet_  down, and went into the kitchen to make something quick.

By the time he got back, he realized he was around halfway through the play, and decided to tough the rest of it out that night. (He was totally doing it for convenience, so he could have the weekend to himself. He wasn't enjoying himself.)

By the time Dean snapped the book shut, having read it cover to cover, his eyes were tired with the scratchy feeling earned with the need for sleep. But he kept himself awake, writing the short summary while everything was still fresh in his mind so he wouldn't have to use a reference. Once his hand cramped he pushed himself to finish. At the end, he turned it over on his nightstand and set the play on top of it, then got up to turn the light off. The only glow in his room was the red digital letters of the clock, which proudly said it was just past one in the morning. Not that his exhausted brain registered that as he threw himself halfway across the floor onto is bed.

The next thing he remembered was waking up with the sunlight streaming in his face from his window. It really had been an awful idea to put his bed there, but he was too lazy to move it now, and too comfortable with his bedroom routine of two years.

Dean was both looking forward to and dreading last period drama class on Monday, because Mrs. Patt was totally right about theater being cool, but Dean obviously couldn't tell her that. That would mean that she was right. On the contrary, this could very well have been the first time Dean had ever handed a homework assignment in on time.

Ideally, Dean wouldn't even be in drama class. But he had to admit, it wasn't all bad.

He made sure to slip into the classroom just as the bell rang, so Mrs. Patt couldn't question him like an excited puppy. Yes, she really did do that, given her opportunity. Instead, they just carried on with their class discussion, taking a few notes and occasionally reading a passage out loud that Mrs. Patt thought was "particularly wonderful" or something outlandish like that. Mrs. Patt was definitely eccentric, if nothing else.

By the time the class only had two minutes left, she called out, "Okay, everyone, I'm sure you're sick of hearing me talk. You can pack up now. Dean, can you stay for a minute?" She even gave the dreaded Finger Wag of Death.

And really, he should have seen that coming, because how could he have avoided this?

So, reluctantly, he kept himself planted in the seat, leaning back nonchalantly. As the bell echoed throughout the school, chairs scraped against the floor in synchronized chorus, and hurried feet swept out the door, kids pushing and shoving and complaining. Dean was the only one who stayed put, never moving a muscle.

Mrs. Patt came over to his desk immediately, getting a look on her face like she expected bad news, which Dean hated. It only intensified his dislike of her. "So, did you do as I asked?" she asked. She was obviously waiting for a no. So Dean treasured the look of surprise on the old bat when he handed her the summary he'd messily scrawled in the late hours of Friday night. "And I won't find this online?" she asked, her eyes skimming the page.

Wow, why didn't he think of that?

"No, Ma'am," he answered smugly, with just a hint of sarcasm.

"Alright, well, since you couldn't participate in the class discussion, just tell me right now what you thought of it?" Mrs. Patt suggested. She took a seat on Dean's desk, and her unsightly maroon skirt looked ready to burst from the effort.

Man, Dean really hated her.

"It was fine," he said. Apparently, she expected more, so he continued, "Well, uh, I mean, it was pretty good, I guess. I read it all in a day."

"Really?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "I'm proud of you, Dean. But that's not what I was asking. I'm asking what you thought of it. How did the play make you feel?"

"Like some people are freaking crazy," he answered. "I mean, hey, love's cool. But don't go killing yourself after, like, three days. That's just weird."

"You're still not really getting it, Dean." Mrs. Patt shook her head. "Let's try this - what was your favorite part?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"I just want to make sure you understand the material," she assured him. "Do you know how plays work?"

"Yeah, I do," he said indignantly. "It can't be that freaking hard to say enter stage left, say a few words, pull a face, and take a bow."

"It's not as easy as you might think." And to Dean's ears, that sounded like the most poorly-disguised challenge ever to confront him. His back stiffened and his eyes gave the hint of a narrowing. His cockiness controlled his temper.

"I bet you it is. I bet if I did the play it would be easy. I could get it all right on my first try," Dean boasted. He stood up, grabbed his bag and swung it so forcefully that is thwacked him on the back. Mrs. Patt was a total bitch, making Dean take this class when it wasn't even important. And apparently, he'd said that out loud by accident, because Mrs. Patt pursed her lips in a very offended way.

"I'll make you a deal, then, Dean," she said, and Dean was suddenly very glad that the school had imposed the 'No Beatings' rule however many years ago it was. "If you do the play, and prove to me that it's so easy, I'll let you drop the class with full credit."

"Fine."

He had meant to say 'no freaking way!'

Honest.


	2. Who Needs Teammates When You Can Have Bitter Rivals?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of auditions arrives.

The day of auditions was a strange one. See, Dean was never really  _popular_ , but people knew who he was. He wasn't football team material, more like everyone was a little intimidated by him for reasons widely unknown. Maybe it was because of all the girls he'd dated. Dean was definitely a ladies' man.

Cas Novak had almost never heard of Dean Winchester. Well, he'd heard the name before, but he'd never been able to match a face to it. It didn't seem that important, and he wasn't even thinking about it as he stood outside the drama room, waiting for the auditions to start. He'd been first on the list, running down the halls as soon as the announcement rang out last week, because if he was first, Mrs. Patt wouldn't be sick of hearing people sing yet, and he might just get a good part. He'd been practicing his audition song for weeks. He'd had it picked for months. Nervous was the understatement of the year.

Dean felt cocky. He strutted through the hallways of the school trying to hold in a smirk. He'd actually practiced a song for his audition, because damn it, he was going to get a  _real_  part, not prostitute #3. Unfortunately, the auditions were first-come, first-serve, and Dean definitely was not first on the list. That gave him a patience disadvantage. But he saw some drama dweeb looking anxious and waiting outside the drama room, so he figured that that was where he was supposed to go.

"Hey. Is this the place for the auditions?"

"Yeah," said the other kid, sizing him up. He didn't have a particularly friendly look about him. It was almost like he was trying to assert a little dominance, and Dean responded accordingly.

"See anything interesting?" he asked, and he would never admit that he was a little intimidated. He narrowed his eyes, trying to judge right back, but for some reason he couldn't concentrate on this kid. They were about the same height, and he had dark hair. That was about all Dean could grasp.

"It's just, not a lot of guys are in to drama," the kid answered in a deep voice. Somehow, all Dean could pull from that was,  _God, those eyes are BLUE_. He had to stop himself from noticeably shaking his head, because what kind of a psycho thought was that? "I expected to be one of the only ones."

"Well, congrats, you are," said Dean, fighting to remain as witty but still civil as possible. "But I'm one of the only ones, too. And can you blame guys for not showing up if you're gonna freaking stare at them like that? Jeez, have you even blinked yet?"

It looked like the guy made a noticeable effort to blink. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Dean Winchester," Dean answered, because he was apparently not as good at being witty as he thought. Something about this kid disoriented him, so he was only half-concentrating on the conversation.

"Dean? _Winchester_? What the hell are you doing here?" the kid asked. Well, that was a comforting greeting. This guy must be so good at making friends. Or maybe it was just Dean's reputation preceding him once more.

"Whoa, there, Curious George. Looking for my boyfriend, obviously," Dean replied sarcastically, because this whole time he had not made one sassy remark and that needed to be changed. "I'm doing the audition thing for the play, I guess. Anyway, I told you my name, so common courtesy. You have to tell me yours now."

"It's Castiel," he said, then shifted his weight to his right foot and crossed his arms. "Cas, actually." He blinked again, and anything calm about him was again lost by these frantic hurrying behind his eyes. An inner panic, for whatever reason. "But you're popular." He steamrolled over Dean's words like they didn't exist. "Why would you be interested in anything 'uncool'? - that is, anything besides the play apparently." What was wrong with this kid? Did he have anger management or something? Why was he gritting his teeth? And what kind of a name was Castiel? Maybe he was a part of one of those crazy conservative families that spent their nights polishing their gun collection and talking about what a curse atheists were.

"I'm..." Dean paused. Why, actually, was he here? What was the purpose of it? Something in him simply wanted to try it, he admitted to only himself, because come on, he can't exactly lie to his own mind. After reading that play, he'd sort of maybe developed a taste for it, and was it such a crime to show up without needing an excuse? But wait! He did have an excuse! "I'm proving a point. And since I have to do this, I figure I'm going to get a good part," he answered surely. Cas didn't look impressed. Rather, he looked a little worried.

At this point, a few other kids showed up. Cas looked at them like they were all sharks fighting over the same meal. Dean wondered if he should back away slowly or screw it and just run. But then, unfortunately, Cas started talking and Dean couldn't find a way out. "Well, listen, Dean. We're a team here. So you can't show up and ruin all of our times just because you want the spotlight. That type of attitude isn't cool here."

"I bet it'll suck for a "popular kid like me" to steal your precious role, won't it?" Dean asked, taking his opportunity to throw this kid's unwelcoming attitude right back at him. He fixed a taunting smirk on himself. "You don't seem very team-like yourself, just so you know. That type of attitude isn't cool here,  _Castiel_."

"Are you being derogatory about my name?" Cas asked. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the left in confusion. Dean swallowed. "Just listen: if you want to be a part of the play, you have to act like a decent person. So lay off the insults. They don't make people like you."

"And I'm sure so many people like you, getting into arguments because you're so defensive about getting your attention!" Dean shot back. Everyone else looked a little too startled or scared to interfere. Good. This was one bone Dean wanted firmly to pick.

Cas paused, then readjusted his head and opened his eyes fully. "I'm not defensive-"

"Like hell, you aren't!" Dean cut off. He started to gesture wildly with his hands for, you know, emphasis and stuff. "It's obvious, anyone who knows anything about body language can see how you're tearing people apart with your eyes. That's not freaking healthy, man! It's just a school play! Relax."

Cas was silent again, and they stared at each other for a long time. Dean was too stubborn to back down. "You stay on your side of the stage and I'll stay on mine."

"Wow, I'm scared." Dean blew a burst of air then turned and sat at the opposite end of the hall. It was a good thing that they started playing nice when they did, because at that exact second the door to the classroom opened, and Mrs. Patt let Cas inside for his audition.

Dean watched carefully, seeing Cas try to expel the tension from his body in her presence. The door shut, and everyone else stayed put, mumbling lyrics to themselves or doing something to relieve stress. A few other kids trickled in, and the hallway was actually considerably full. But Dean couldn't resist. He stood up, crept over to the door, and pressed his ear to it. It totally wasn't creepy.

 _Okay_ , he thought,  _that's not bad_. And by that, he meant Cas was  _good_. Suddenly, Dean wasn't so sure about the security of his own role. But he shook his head, convincing himself that Cas had a huge disadvantage: he cared about this, and sounded nervous. Dean would be able to simply open his mouth and win over Mrs. Patt's heart. Except it didn't seem like she liked him all that much. That would have to be remedied as quickly as possible, as painful as the thought seemed. Now there was more than just Dean's grade at stake.

And suddenly Cas stopped singing, so Dean went back to his designated section of wall and sat down, pretending to look bored. He felt Cas look at him, then look away. Silently he complimented himself on his own amazing acting skills, and was once again assured that he would get a good role.

A few other kids stumbled in to audition, then a few minutes afterward, they all stumbled right back out and left immediately  with their bags. Cas never budged. He sat and did his math homework, or whatever. He never even glanced up. Dean knew because he was watching him the whole time.

Eventually, when only three kids were left, and then two, and then one trembling seventh grader, it was Dean's turn. He stood up and walked inside, suddenly feeling a little shaky. He brushed it off as much as he could. That was obviously some stupid normal thing. He liked to picture himself in contrast to the whole of everything in the universe - it made the things in front of him that seemed like a big problem so much easier to deal with (while simultaneously terrifying him, but that was beside the point).

Mrs. Patt smiled, but it didn't seem as warm as it might have been on earlier days in their knowing each other. "Dean," she said politely. "I was wondering where you were. How many more students are there?"

"Just me," Dean answered. But he had a feeling that she knew that. After all, there was a copy of the sign up order sitting right on her desk.

"Alright, well, why don't you go ahead and sing something for me." Mrs. Patt sat back in her chair, and it squeaked. The sudden absence of noise following that made the room feel extremely silent. Mrs. Patt was sitting there, expectantly waiting for Dean. But he had to prove to her that it was easy, so he opened his mouth and shoved the words out until it was easy to keep going.

Then he tried to think about anything except for what was happening. He knew the words to his song, he'd known them since he was a child. So well, in fact, that he was comfortable enough to completely desert his mouth and think about anything besides how ridiculous he felt auditioning for the school play. What would his dad think? He would just call Dean a sissy, then go get drunk and pass out on the couch, and Dean would have to cover him with a blanket and make sure Sammy got taken care of. It sort of pissed Dean off, because he loved his Dad, but at the same time he hated him, because how could he be so cruel and neglectful to his own children?

Dean tried to think of something else. He didn't like thinking about his Dad. Being emotional in any way with anyone - even and perhaps most especially himself -  made Dean very uncomfortable.

And suddenly the room was silent again, because he'd gotten too carried away with that thought, and suddenly his song was over. Dean didn't even look at Mrs. Patt, just turned and walked out of the room.

As the door approached, he knew he had to look confident for the sake of intimidating Cas, but the thought of his Dad always seemed to wreck him emotionally for a while. Maybe that wasn't so healthy, but it wasn't like Dean could help it. But he shoved all that aside, put on a cocky grin, and pulled open the door.

Just in time to see Cas scrambling up and dusting off his pants, stammering some sort of excuse. Or, at least, attempting to.

"Well, hey there, it looks like I've got a shadow," Dean gloated, because it was so obvious that Cas was threatened by him. And now Dean didn't feel as weird about listening to Cas's audition, considering Cas had clearly done the same for his. "So that's why you stuck around, is it?"

Cas straightened, suddenly very nervous. "I-"

"Relax. I did it to you, too," Dean said. He didn't know why he  _told_  Cas that. Maybe he just didn't like seeing those blue eyes staring at him like a kicked puppy, so wide and full of nervous fear. So, in order to avoid the awkward situation, he forced himself to remain confident and started to walk away, planning to go back to his locker and then leave.

"Wait - what? Y-you did?" Cas called after him.

And what could Dean shout back except for, "Of course! Now go home and get your beauty rest. You'll need it if you want to get ready for your close up, movie star!"

He turned the corner, feeling confident that he had gotten a good part. Cas didn't stand a chance.

  



	3. Time to Learn Roles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At his first rehearsal, Dean meets some rather interesting people.

Dean's first rehearsal was the following Monday. The cast were due to find out their roles, and Dean actually had to fight to pay attention in class, rather than letting his mind wander to planning his speech for when he won an oscar. For once, Dean was glad that he had drama last period, because he didn't even have to go anywhere. He just stayed sitting, listening to the huge clock above the whiteboard ticking. In fact, it was no different than how he spent most of his classes.

The first person to come into the room, by a long shot, was Cas. He was breathing heavily, like he had run all the way there. Dean was starting to label him as an absolute freak. At least he tried to act normal, slowing down his breathing as soon as he noted Dean, he walked calmly into the classroom.

"Good afternoon, Castiel," Mrs. Patt said, smiling. Before that moment, she had been ruffling around in the bottom drawer of her desk, and now she was holding a sheet of paper that Dean could almost see through. It was obvious that Castiel was one of Mrs. Patt's favorite students, just by the way she spoke that one sentence to him.

"Hi, Mrs. Patt," he said, smiling politely. He took a seat in the front of the room which seemed almost miles away from Dean, who was nestled snugly in the back corner. There was a long silence that was tangible enough to drag a knife through.

Mrs. Patt cleared her throat. "Dean, there's a box of scripts in the closet behind you. Why don't you take it out and start putting the scripts on desks?" she asked. Dean couldn't tell if it was to try and fill the silence or just to make him work, but he stood up anyway.

The box was heavier than it should have been for some paper, but Dean lifted it without much effort. As he opened the box, something caught his attention that made his heart wrench. The title was  _Playing Gay_ , as it said in neatly typed letters on the front page of the white and red booklet. He wondered what the hell that meant, and prayed to anything holy he could think of that it meant happy, and that he got a small part. Were they really doing a play about gays in school? Wasn't that, like, illegal or something?

But he tried to remain calm, keeping his face as passive as he could muster, putting one script on every desk as more students trickled in. Thankfully, one student had more balls than he did. She had bright red hair, and as she sat her bag down next to a desk, she picked up a script and read the title. " _Playing Gay_? Mrs. Patt, I haven't heard of this play before. Are there gonna be, like, gay people in it?" she asked. Dean stayed natural, but really there was a knot in his stomach, and his ears were working to their full extent.

"Charlie, please just find a seat," said Mrs. Patt. "I have announcements that I'll make when the whole cast is here." And that was that. She went back to organizing papers. But something in her seemed to be filled with tension. Dean tried not to think about it as the metaphorical weight dragged him down, like someone lost at sea fighting to stay above the water.

"Well, fine, but I don't want to sit at the front," she murmured, then picked her bag up again, flopped the script back onto the desk, and started moving again. At this point Dean finished passing out the scripts, plopped the leftovers in the box, and carried those to the front of the room. He made sure that the box landed right in the middle of Mrs. Patt's desk, on all of her papers.

When he turned back around, the girl called Charlie was occupying the chair next to his desk.  _Oh, great_ , Dean thought. He wasn't in the mood to flirt with some girl just now. He was too busy panicking.

But when he walked over, all she did was extend her hand, and introduce herself as, "Charlie. I can see you have a problem with authority as well. I respect that." She offered him a smirk that suggested she wasn't interested in him. It was kind of weird, because girls were usually very interested in Dean, but he was glad.

"Dean," he said, slapping his hand into hers and giving it a good shake. "Winchester."

Charlie grinned. "You're a first-timer. What inspired you?" she asked good-naturedly.

Dean had a feeling that he would like this girl. "Uh, I'm failing drama. And, I dunno, don't tell anyone, but I kinda like it," he said, using his own grin as a sort of lock and key.

"That I should never reveal the best of you, Severus?" Charlie asked. She laughed. Good, Dean had met another person that laughs at their own jokes. And that made Harry Potter references. "Well, since you're the newbie, why don't I show you the ropes? Not to be modest, but I'm kind of an expert."

Dean joined in her laughter. "Alright, deal," he said. He liked people that weren't all awkward when they first met someone. He wished he could be more like that.

"Okay, you'll start by learning the people. Stand up," Charlie said, pushing herself onto her legs as well and waiting for Dean.

"But I just sat down," he whined.

"Are you kidding? Get up, lazy ass," she said. "Or I'll rub my homo over you. And yes, that is serious. I figure I should tell people right when I meet them in case they decide to run in terror from me. You wouldn't be the first." Something in her smile darkened.

Dean stood up. "Why would I run when I barely wanted to get up?" he asked. He wanted to tell her that it was nothing, but emotions, and stuff about homosexuality... well, those were things Dean was certain he could never talk about. He tried his best to keep his eyes bright and clear of any secrets they might give. "Charlie, it's all cool," he assured her.

She waggled her eyebrows. "Very cool." It seemed like she was back to her bright and happy self now. She grabbed Dean by the arm and started towing him around to everyone. In the other back corner, were, as Charlie put, "The rebels with detention who chose to do their time the coolest way possible. Crowley, Lucy, Meg, and Ruby. They're like a unit, and very sarcastic." Dean could respect that.

And then she pulled him, not as gently as she could have, to the, as she described them, "gods among mortals," the tech crew. "I'm the captain," she chattered. "But, Mr. Singer would say he is. Technically, he's just the supervisor. This is Frank. And I don't know where Sam is."

"Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "He's a kid, really. But he's smart. Sam... Winchester, I think his last name is? Something like that..."

"You mean my brother?" Dean wanted to hurl. His own little brother was going to see him in a play called  _Playing Gay_? Was there a worse thing in any conceivable thought?

Charlie slapped herself on the head. "Duh. I'm an idiot. I can't believe it took me that long to get it. Yeah, I think so," she said. "He should be here any - Sam! There you are! Get over here, loser."

Dean's little brother walked into the room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Charlie, and he grinned and walked over. On the way, he spotted Dean. "Oh, hey, Dean," he said, the underlying question evident in his statement.

"Hey, Sammy," said Dean, because what else could he say?

"Hey, Sam. Good to see you, too," Charlie mumbled sarcastically.

Sam ignored her and looked down at the script on the desk as he asked, "What play is it?  _Playing Gay_?" he looked up at Dean and Charlie as if he wasn't sure that he'd read it correctly, eyebrows wrinkled. All Charlie offered him in return was a shrug. Dean didn't say anything.

"Well, come on, Dean," Charlie said, reestablishing her grip on Dean's arm and tugging him over, waving names in the general directions of some faces. Finally, she stopped at a desk near the front of the room. "And this is Cas," she said dramatically. "He's, like, the King of Drama. He's been in every production that is physically possible for the school to put him into. It's kind of crazy. But Jo's almost got some mileage on him."

"Yeah, in her dreams," Cas muttered.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, we - we've met," he said to Charlie. Cas merely stared at him with something that wasn't quite hate, but it wasn't exactly friendly curiosity either. It only partially made Dean want to curl up into himself and hide. It was like the kid was looking at his actual soul or something.

"Well, then you're lucky," Charlie said. "Alright, well Gabriel's in charge of scenery and props, so let's go introduce you to him-"

" _Okay_ , well, it looks as though everybody's here," Mrs. Patt suddenly announced, waving her arms and calling for quiet. The room silenced fairly quickly, as everyone was anxious to hear their parts. Dean planted himself on the desk behind Cas, as that was about as far as Charlie had managed to pull him. She stood next to him. "If you didn't get a script, just come up and grab one from the box on my desk." A few students who were sitting on desks did. "I'm sure you're all very anxious to know your parts, but I've got a few announcements. I know you're all curious about the play." Mrs. Patt cleared her throat. "Our school is a school of tolerance. And, to emphasize that fact, we're going to be doing a play about a gay couple."

A few people snickered, but mostly there was an uncomfortable silence. Charlie's fingers were digging into Dean's arm so harshly, he was sure they would leave marks. She was looking around like she was threatening to kill anybody who made an attack on the choice.

"That's enough," Mrs. Patt said. She looked around the room with pursed lips. "Anybody who has a problem with this is welcome to leave now."

Everyone in the room looked around. There was the sound of a single chair scraping against the floor, and a kid that Dean had never talked to but knew the name of grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. Nobody stopped Gordon Walker, but a few judging stares followed him out. It didn't even look like he noticed. After that, a little bit of tension was ebbed away in the room.

"So," Mrs. Patt paused again, cleared her throat, tried to keep a light atmosphere. She looked at her desk, then grabbed the sheet of paper she'd retrieved from it earlier. "Roles! Um, if you'll all turn to the cast list, you can highlight your character as I call it. We'll start with.... Jo. You're going to be Leslie."

There was a hiss of happiness from Dean's left. A blonde girl was excitedly highlighting the script in front of her. Dean was happy that she was happy, but he was still anxious to hear his name called, anxious to hear that he was not gay. Please, he was not gay. Please.

Mrs. Patt called out a few more names, some of which Charlie had mentioned to Dean, followed by more nods or exclamations of delight, and the circling or highlighting of a name.

"Alright, well, the lead role of Danny is going to... Dean Winchester."

Dean's eyes bugged out of his head. And it turned out he wasn't the only one who was surprised. Cas shot up out of his chair. "WHAT?" he yelled, masking the other groans of disappointment.

"Mr. Novak-"

"No, sorry!" Cas nearly yelled. "Sorry, sorry." He looked like he was trying very hard to calm down, and fighting to put himself back in his seat. Dean was a little nervous just looking at him. Was it really such a big deal to this kid? He wasn't so excited to work with Cas.

"Perhaps you'd like to know your part, Mr. Novak?" Mrs. Patt asked. "You're going to be Joe."

Dean looked at his script. This time,  _he_  almost stood up and shouted. Joe... Joe was Danny's love interest. Dean had to play gay for Cas.

Cas's head shot up, and he stared back at Dean, looking almost as scared as Dean felt. "Are... you cool with it?" Dean asked, and he vowed to spend every day thanking God for the rest of his life that his voice didn't tremble.

Cas hesitated, gave a curt nod, and then turned back around. Dean felt his stomach fall out as soon as he looked away. He allowed the panic to show on his face, and realized only now that Charlie had let go of his arm before, because her hand had returned as a reassuring touch. Dean tuned out Mrs. Patt as she called the rest of the names. Once she was finished, she told everyone that the first official rehearsal would be Wednesday, the day after tomorrow, and could they all please read the scripts, and be prepared to go through lines.

As the brief meeting was called to an end, Dean shakily stood up and grabbed his bag. Charlie seemed to do it in unison with him. "Hey, like you said, it's cool," she said, obviously trying to be comforting. "Um, I know how guys are huge about the whole 'NO HOMO' thing, but if it helps, you're just playing a character. I don't know. It's not so bad. Besides, no cool people go to the play, so they wouldn't really - I'm rambling, but I think it's a good ramble, because I keep saying reasons, but, uh, anyway, I'll shut up now."

It was fine, because Dean honestly hadn't been listening to a word she'd been saying. He silently walked out of the room.

 


	4. Know Your Enemy.../Love Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean does some reconnaissance on his teammate when he gets home.

Dean tuned out must of the bus ride. He didn't normally take the bus, but he needed some time to think, and didn't exactly feel like exerting the physical energy that walking required. He spent the entire ride with sweaty hands and a mind that couldn't concentrate on anything, so he quietly stared out the window at the world rushing by as fast as it dared in a school zone.

All too quickly, before he had begun to even think about being prepared to tell his dad, the bus was coming to a stop outside his house. The door hissed open, and Dean stood up with numb legs. And he wasn't the only one.

Apparently, Dean hadn't even noticed that Cas rode on his bus.

Cas climbed off first, as he had been sitting more towards the front of the bus. Dean took a little longer, and the short, fat bus driver was obviously impatient. He grunted when Dean passed him, and nearly shut the door on his backpack before curtly speeding away.

There was an awkward silence.

Dean tried to keep his head down, keep his legs moving. His house was close, and then he could just ignore the world. Maybe he could drop out of the play. But then, he was a stubborn asshole. And he needed to pass drama or his dad would kill him. But then... how would his dad feel when he found out his son had to play a gay kid in the school play? Was it even worth it?

"You look like hell, Dean," Cas said. Dean almost flinched.

He turned around, so he could face Cas, but kept walking backwards. "Yeah, well, I feel like hell," he said, waving his arms in a manner that suggested nothing could be done about it. He tried to turn around and ignore Cas, but then he spoke again.

"Is it... because of me? Have I made you uncomfortable? Listen, Dean, I know I haven't been very friendly towards you. Perhaps it's just because of my social awkwardness or introvert personality, but I do-"

"Just save it, Cas," Dean said. Cas had no right to play the best friend role yet. "I'm tired. And I don't know how the hell I'm going to tell my dad I have to - nevermind. I'm not going to whine about my problems to - I mean, least of all y-"

"Least of all me?" Cas asked. "You know, sometimes it's better to tell your problems to people you don't know very well. It resolves the fear of having to see them again when they know your secrets."

"Well, no offense, but I don't want to bitch about my problems to you. Besides, we just might have to act like - well, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other. Anyways, we wouldn't have time. My list of problems... let's just say you'd have a headache when I was through, and you'd be screaming for someone to put a bullet in your skull," Dean said. The whole time he had been backing away, and now he was practically on his front porch.

The last thing Cas did was yell, "It's not healthy to run away from your problems, Dean!" before Dean went inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

What a dick, trying to tell Dean how to take care of himself.

 

 

 

Dean read through the play, and, while it was actually pretty interesting, it would also be completely embarrassing to have to say half of the shit Danny said out loud. Basically, the play was set in the 1950's, and this guy Danny lived in a really homophobic town. He liked a guy named Joe, who was a total social recluse and never really did anything besides study and read. Danny was always pressured by his parents to be perfect, and his friends all looked up to him, so he knew he couldn't freak them out by telling them he was gay. Somehow these two best friends Leslie and Gina (Jo and Charlie) catch on, and they try to hook up Danny and Joe, and they get the town used to things by posing as a lesbian couple. Apparently there was a happy scene where Danny and Joe danced together at homecoming near the end, but thank God, the play had no kiss.

About ten seconds after Dean had closed the play, the front door slammed shut. Dad was home. And that shouldn't have filled Dean with fear, but he couldn't deny that it did. There was a dreaded moment of tense silence where Dean stayed half-raised from his bed, listening intently and praying.

"Dean? Front and center!"

Dean got up with limbs feelings sort of hollow. He moved as quickly as he could without running to get to his dad, who was struggling with taking off his leather jacket. Dean silently helped him as his father spoke. "Where the hell were you? I told you to get to the shop after school today."

Dean's stomach dropped. He'd completely forgotten. "I - uh, sorry, Dad. There was an after school thing I had to go to and then I forgot, I-"

"You forgot? Do I forget to go to work? Do I forget to put food on the table?" John asked. Dean kept his head down, trying not to point out that Dean had in fact been doing the cooking for quite some time now. His father had never so much as thanked him. Well, besides the one time that he was so drunk that he slept for an entire day afterwards. And even then, it had just been a gruff, slurred, "You don' desurv dis, boooy." 

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again," Dean mumbled.

"If you're gonna talk, say your shit like you mean it. You're right it won't happen again. What the hell were you even doing after school? And where's Sam?" John asked.

Dean didn't know which question to answer first. Maybe his dad would be so distracted that he wouldn't even think to follow up on the first question. "I think Sam's in his room," Dean answered. "He shouted something about doing homework when he came home."

"And what were you doing?" John asked, squinting his eyes.

"I was reading," Dean said, hoping he didn't blink, because then John would think he was lying and keep him up all night asking questions. Dean's father had always had a problem with being lied to.

"What the hell's with all this reading you've been doing lately?" John asked. "What, you think you're going to college?" He wheezed out a laugh at that, then proceeded to walk straight past his son and into the kitchen, open the fridge, and get a beer.

Dean put on the tough face that he'd grown so used to wearing. He walked past his father and went back into his room, locking the door behind him, just so he could feel more secure. And then, about five seconds later, he unlocked it and went five feet across the hall to Sammy's room and knocked on the door. A second later, Sam stood and opened the door.

He seemed to let out a sigh of relief. "Dean," he breathed. "What do you need?" Clearly he had been expecting their father. He should have known it was Dean, though - John never knocked.

"Can I use your computer?" Dean asked. Dean had never bought a computer. He didn't think it was worth the time. But Sam had saved every penny he got for about five years until he could buy a laptop. Dean had helped as much as he could, being as generous as possible with money on birthdays. As a sort of unspoken gratitude, Sam usually let Dean use his laptop pretty much whenever.

"Sure," he said, stepping aside and letting Dean in. He shut the door behind him. "So, what did Dad want?" he asked.

"The usual," Dean muttered, tousling Sammy's hair. Maybe, subconsciously, he was just trying to assure his little brother that everything was okay. "It's fine. Uh, I didn't tell him about the whole play thing. You think you could watch my back there? I don't think he would be too happy if he found out..."

"Yeah, you got it," Sam said. Then he redirected his attention back to the television, which was apparently playing some sort of documentary on Ancient Egyptians.

"Dude. What are you watching?" Dean asked as he opened up Google Chrome. Sam had a good computer, and he was good about taking care of it. He had the best programs, and he knew how to use him. Dean could still remember very clearly how much Sam had ranted when Dean had opened up internet explorer last year.

"I have to for a homework assignment. You had Mr. Burne for social studies, right? Guy's a maniac. I don't know, I think he likes me," Sam mumbled unsurely. Dean felt a sudden pang of affection for his little brother; more than his usual protective nature, he just wanted to keep Sam okay.

"Pfff, nerd," Dean mumbled, now focusing all of his energy on the laptop. He went onto Facebook, which he never really used, but had just because. Cas Novak did not have a Facebook.

Okay, so he tried somewhere else.

"Dude, are you googling Cas?"

"Shut up!" Dean snapped. "Nose down, Sam."

"That's really creepy," said Sam, getting up and peering over Dean's shoulder.

"I'm just trying to find out a little bit more about the guy. How is that creepy?" Dean asked. Really, was there a problem with wanting to know who you were working with? Besides, if they had to be in love-

"You know, you could just talk to the guy," Sam suggested, like that wasn't the stupidest idea in the world. Dean scoffed.

"It's not creepy," he insisted. "I mean, look at this! It's just on the internet! It's not creepy if I just so happen to find out that recently he's been in three local major theater productions with professionals - holy shit how did I get a better part than this guy?" Dean continued to scroll, looking more and more astounded as he did. Cas had been nominated for a few amateur awards! How was Dean supposed to compete with that? "It's not creepy if there's already a crap ton of stuff on him out here. I wouldn't be surprised if the guy had his own freaking fan base by now."

"Are you sure you're not in love with this guy already? You're acting like a twelve year old stalker-girl with a crush," Sam said. Dean turned around just in time to see his little brother's smirk fading.

"You shut your trap and respect your elders, half-wit," Dean said. He closed out of the internet and shut Sam's laptop. "Watch your dead civilization and listen to posh english accents narrate it, see if I care. I'll make some pizza later. Dad went straight for the beer today, so it shouldn't be long before he's passed out."

The way Dean had grown accustomed to saying that so casually left him feeling a little empty inside. 

  



	5. A Rock And A Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining today.

The next morning, Dean was roused by his alarm being much too loud and much too close to his ear. As soon as he slammed his finger on the button (totally not in a startled and freaking out manner) he realized that it was raining, and because of this, waking up would prove to be the second hardest thing that morning.

Once he had managed to force his eyes open, (a good eight minutes after his heart had stopped racing) Dean looked out the window and deduced that it would continue to rain all day. He groaned. Warm plaid seemed like a good way to go today, so he went to his dresser and pulled on a gray t shirt, and a red plaid shirt over it. Afterwards, he took special care in picking a pair of jeans with no holes in them, which was actually almost impossible.

Once he stumbled out of his room, desperately in need of some coffee, he noticed that his dad was still passed out on the couch. Realizing that this was a no win scenario, (John either got pissed that Dean woke him up, or pissed that Dean hadn't woken him up) Dean decided to bite the bullet and shake his dad awake.

John gave a sleepy groan. "Wha-?"

"Dad, you need to get ready for work," Dean said quietly, because he knew that John would be hung over. Also, so he could pretend that John hadn't heard him.

"Shut up. Call me in sick," John grunted, turning over so his head was pushed into the pillow of the old tan couch.

Dean was used to doing this. Without a word, he walked over to the phone in the kitchen, pressed speed dial number one, and waited as it rang. A second later, it was answered with, "Hello?"

"Missouri, it's Dean," Dean said. As he spoke, he put on the coffee maker. "My Dad's not feeling well. He told me to call him in sick. That okay?"

"Say no more, Dean," said Missouri, long time owner of 'Missouri's Mechanics'. She was an old friend of their dad's, who always pretended she didn't know John was hungover every time he called in sick. In return, the Winchesters pretended they didn't know she knew, solely for the reason that John needed this job, no other boss would be as lenient, and John would never accept help from anybody. "Don't you worry about it, boy. Tell your little brother I said hello."

"Will do, Missouri," said Dean. "Thanks."

"Bye, Dean."

"Bye."

Dean hung up and put the phone on the receiver. He heard the tone that had been in Missouri's voice all the time. It was encouragement, but also pity, and he kind of hated it. "Dean?" came the muffled call of his dad from the living room.

"Yes, sir?" asked Dean, walking in the doorway of the living room. John was still face-planted into the couch.

"Take the impala. Drive your brother to school. Cover for me after school," John said. "Keys are on the table."

Dean dared to smile, only because he knew his dad couldn't see it. "Thank you, sir," he said. He eagerly turned back to the kitchen for the keys. There they were, laying on the table, beckoning to him.

"And Dean?"

Dean poked his head back into view from the couch, even though John wasn't concerned with looking at his disappointment of a son. "Yes, sir?"

"Not a scratch."

"Yes, sir."

Dean went back to the kitchen and grabbed the keys off the wooden table, grinning. He would trade his left hand for a day with this car. Working an afternoon at the auto shop with Missouri was no problem.

"What are you so happy about?" Sam asked, emerging with freshly combed hair. Dean tousled it, messing it up on purpose. Sam grimaced and tried in vain to fix it in the reflection of the microwave.

"I'm driving today," Dean practically sang. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm fine."

"Most important meal of the day, Sammy. Sit down. I'll make us a gourmet special," Dean promised, and then he set to work making two bowls of cereal.

"You know, I figured you'd be a little more out of it today," Sam commented from his place at the head of the table. Dean always made him sit there when John wasn't eating with them, which was practically always.

"Oh? And why's that?" asked Dean.

"You know, just because you seemed weird yesterday," Sam said. Dean then realized that he wasn't mentioning the play because John was still home. Dean didn't say anything, just shut the milk in the fridge and brought the cereal to the table.

 

 

School was a little unconventional that day. The entire school had found out that the play was about gay guys, and that Dean would be one of them. Those were the kinds of whispers that echoed throughout hallways pretty quickly. Dean had already received threats from "pro-rights" kids that if he dropped out because of that, he would get punched. Even so, Dean's good mood managed to stick until the break between periods three and four. That was when Cas approached his locker. He was wearing a green sweater vest over a tinted blue dress shirt, and tan pants that weren't necessarily dress pants, but nor were they jeans. He was holding a textbook and a folder under his left elbow.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," said Dean, trying not to sound very exasperated. He occupied himself with grabbing his books multiple times and rifling through his bag for nothing.

There was an awkward silence for a second.

"So... what are you doing here?" asked Dean.

"I suppose I'm just... checking to make sure you're okay. You seemed to be in a bad mood yesterday," replied Cas.

"I was," said Dean, shutting his locker. He didn't know why he was telling Cas that. Usually, the only person he considered actually  _taking to_  was Sammy. "Why do you care?"

"You know, I wasn't kidding yesterday. I actually am a nice person," said Cas. "At least, I think I am. But I'm not going to make excuses for myself. If you want, just tell me flat out now that you don't want to try to be friends with me."

"It's fine," said Dean, although truthfully, he wasn't sure. "I just... have to get to class now." Really, he didn't like Cas all that much.

 

 

The rain was pouring down by the time school was over, but Dean had still somehow managed to retain his good mood. He'd even gotten a bonus point on his math quiz for being the only student who attempted to use 'calculator' as a verb. Sam was waiting by Dean's locker after the last bell, and they both had to run to the car. Even so, they were soaked.

As soon as the car doors slammed shut, Dean groaned. "Dad's gonna kill me," he said, turning the wipers on to full power. They clicked and shuttered with every mood. It was the most beautiful scraping Dean had ever heard. And don't even get him started and the thunder of the rippling engine over the pounding of the rain. Still, he couldn't see much. He nearly crashed twice just pulling out of the student parking lot. Both times he'd received miniature heart attacks.

"Hey, is that Cas?" Sam suddenly asked.

Dean looked out the window as the slowly advancing traffic halted once again. There was a figure in some ridiculous trench coat walking, trying to act like the rain didn't bother him. Dean almost laughed, because the kid looked so ridiculous.

"We should offer him a ride," said Sam, unbuckling and scooting over to the other seat, then re-buckling.

"What? I mean - Dad'll want to kill me enough as it is."

"Then at least you're already dying. Dude, are you freaking heartless?" asked Sam. "Get that guy in the car."

So Dean - stuck between a rock and a hard place - made a quick decision and rolled down his window and shouted to Cas, "Hey, man! You want a ride?"

Cas looked over, startled. He blinked a few times, then, "No," he said back.

"Dude, shut up and get in. You're gonna drown or something!" Dean argued over the loud downpour.

"I don't want to get your car wet," Cas said.

"Get in before I send Sam out there to haul your ass in here!" Dean shouted, as anxious cars behind him honked angrily at the loss of speed.

Cas seemed to notice too, so he ducked his head and got into the front seat of the car. Dean started driving before he was buckled all the way. And if he was stuck between a rock and a hard place before, he didn't know where he was now.

 


	6. A Trip Through Cas's Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas's view on some things.

Cas had known he was gay since pretty much ever. However, he was so far back in the closet, he was six dimensions past Narnia. But when he found out that the secretive, sometimes noisy neighbors he had never bothered to meet were the Winchesters, specifically Dean, something inside him felt like it was clawing its way to the closet door.

Cas had read through  _Playing Gay_  pretty much as soon as he'd gotten it in his hands. One of his favorite places to read was in his back yard. There was a huge oak tree right in the middle, and in the summer it provided the perfect shade. At first, he thought it might be fun to play Joe, as soon as Dean got past the situation, and it would no longer be awkward. He could be gay, and see how people would react to it. Maybe, just maybe, he might actually learn to be okay with it himself. Of course - he was fine with other people being gay, but why did it have to be  _Cas_?

Cas didn't really understand why Dean didn't like him. Perhaps he hadn't been the  _nicest_  person at first, but he had been considerate enough today, and all Dean had done in response was shout at him. And besides, Cas hadn't been having a good day when he and Dean had met. He had been anxious and competitive and... oh, it didn't matter.

 The rest of his night passed much as it normally would. Cas minded his own business in his room - tonight he was highlighting lines, which felt good after his long break between shows. It had been a couple months since he had last done this. The rest of his family did whatever they did, and when he was going to bed, Cas shouted, "GOODNIGHT!" out his door, and maybe received one or two, "GOODNIGHT, CASTIEL!"s in return. And then he went to sleep.

Cas had a mind that wasn't easily shut off. He couldn't ever really make himself stop thinking long enough to fall asleep. Sometimes, if he was really tired, he could trick himself into falling asleep. That's why he liked theater - he liked it, so he put all of his energy into it, and it made him tired enough to fall asleep at night. Over the course of the night, Cas woke up two times - once at what felt like one (he'd stopped opening his eyes to look at the clock. That only ruined his ability to fall back asleep) and the other time was much later. Gray sunlight was peaking in through his second-story window, but his alarm hadn't gone off yet. All he could hear was the steady pounding of rain.

Deciding to risk it, because he already felt awake enough anyway, Cas opened his eyes. His clock told him that it was just before six A.M. His alarm would be going off in seven minutes.

His bedroom was always cold in the morning, so he huddled his blanket closer to his body, got up, and went across the room to turn the heater up. Most of the time, Cas stuck to a strict morning schedule. He didn't know what to do with his seven extra minutes, so he flopped back onto his bed and looked around his room.

It had never occurred to him that his room was in fact very boring. There was only one wall with any sort of decoration on it, and that was the wall to the left of the door, opposite the wall his bed met. The white paint (which used to make the place shockingly similar to the image on a mental hospital's room) was now covered with anything relating to his plays - tiny ticket stubs, pamphlets, script covers, or anything else he thought was interesting.

The dresser next to the door had a few mementos on it from previous shows he had done. Just a few trinkets, and one group t-shirt that everyone on the cast of Shakespeare's  _The Twelfth Night_  had gotten.

Other than that, the room was standard. One book shelf ready to burst, one desk with a lap top and a sizable pile of homework sitting on it, one television, and one bed.

And then his alarm clock went off, so he hobbled over to it and pressed the button, pulled off his shirt, and started getting dressed. It took him extra willpower to get over the slump that rainy mornings provided.

  


 

  


Cas really didn't understand why Dean didn't like him. And it was a stupid thing to be thinking about when he was literally being soaked with rain on his walk home from school, but for some reason, it bugged him. He had been nice to Dean during school today. Why was Dean so uncomfortable around him? Sure, Dean was conventionally attractive, but Cas couldn't have been so obviously gay around him, could he? The truth was, he was just trying to figure Dean out. He'd never in a million years pictured that Winchester would go out for the school play.

Thankfully, the rain was very distracting, and gave him something to think about other than the fact that it was going to be very hard to convey romantic vibes to someone who thought you were weird - that he was drenched. The rain beat down on him; trying to fight through it without getting knocked back was an absolute monster. The droplets were so dense Cas could barely see six feet in front of himself. Showered from head to toe and then some with rain, until it felt like every drop of water that had every touched the Earth was chilling him to the bones. He felt like he was being flattened backwards by it, and it was very difficult to blink. He really wished he had some wings or something.

He hardly heard the rumble of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala as it made its way down the road, and the only thing that caught his attention was a window being rolled down next to him, because how could someone be so crazy? And then he realized that it was Dean, and he was shouting something, so Cas had to try extra hard to listen.

"Hey, man! You want a ride?" was what he deciphered. And how was he supposed to answer that? Why was Dean offering? Dean didn't even like Cas. Polite answer it was. Besides, the rain wasn't so bad.

"No," Cas shouted back, still a little startled. For a moment, he wondered if Dean might buy it after all. It would certainly save them both a lot of trouble. Maybe Dean more so than Cas, but still.

"Dude, shut up and get in. You're gonna drown or something!" Dean argued.

What was a good argument against that? Think, Cas! He forced some words to leave his mouth. "I don't want to get your car wet," Cas said. Yes, those sounded good. Those were goods words.

"Get in before I send Sam out there to haul your ass in here!" Dean shouted, just as cars in the line behind the Impala honked angrily, probably wondering why Dean was driving so slowly. Cas could see Sam in the backseat, making pleading eyes, probably not entirely sure that Dean wouldn't do it. Or maybe he just wanted Cas to stop fighting and let something nice happen to him.

Cas thought of all the angry people in the cars, who just wanted to get home and be warm probably, so he ducked his head and ran to the car. He climbed into the front seat and worked to pull off his trench coat and rest it on his lap. It was still hopelessly drowning the upholstery. Dean started driving again before Cas had finished buckling, much to Cas's relief. He didn't want the people in the car suffering at his expense.

The ride started in silence, and Cas didn't know what to do with himself. His hair was dangling in his eyes, he was dripping all over the place, and he was pretty sure there was water in every orifice.

"So, uh, Cas did you read through the play?" Sam asked from the backseat.

"I did," Cas answered, thankful for something other than rain pounding on metal breaking the silence. "I thought for the most part it would make a very good performance. What did you think?"

"I only got to the end of act one, but so far it's good. What did you think, Dean?" Sam asked. So, that was the plan. Bait Dean into talking. How could Sam so easily tell that Cas was bothered by Dean judging him? How could Sam so easily try to fix it?

Dean gave a noncommittal shrug.

"This is certainly... a great deal of traffic," Cas said. He wasn't especially good at speaking under pressure. Well, he could talk, but sometimes the things he said weren't always... intelligent. Like now, for instance. The only thing that answered him was more silence.

"I am sorry about getting your car wet," said Cas.

"Don't worry about it," said Dean. So he hadn't lost the ability to speak, then. It was an improvement, at least.

"It's a nice car," Cas tried.

"It's not mine," said Dean, but something in him softened. He had jumped to answer at that topic. Cas wasn't sure, but he thought Dean might have given the steering wheel an affectionate rub with his thumbs. "It's my dad's. He lets me borrow her, sometimes." This time Dean smiled, and Cas wanted to smile, too. He liked listening to people talk about the things that made them happy.

Cas couldn't contribute to the conversation, so this time he just sat in a much more comfortable silence. Dean wasn't a bad kid. Maybe Cas had ripped a few papers in anger the night after they had met, because how could this random kid show up and demand the lead role when that was Cas's role this was Cas's domain - but now Dean was just a normal guy who was a part of something that Cas liked doing. Maybe they could be friends. Should Cas bring up play rehearsal? Would Dean be okay with that? Cas knew that the macho popular type people trembled before the word "gay" but, really...

"Are you excited for rehearsal tomorrow?" Cas asked. He chanced a side glance at Dean, who stiffened a little.

"I guess," he said.

"Dean, you do realize that there's nothing wrong with playing a gay character," Cas said. "There's nothing wrong with actually being gay, too, of course, I suppose I just mean-"

"Yeah, I know, cas," Dean said in a sigh. "It's just - you don't really get it, okay?"

Cas could tell that this was neither the time nor the place to have this discussion, so he simply nodded. They were turning onto their street now, anyways. And then all Cas had to do was run inside, but he heard the Impala drive away after he did.

Cas pulled off his coat in the front hall, as his sister Anna rushed in, fussing over him being all wet and catching a cold. Anna was the only one in his family who was like this over him. She grabbed him a towel, ordered him to take off his shoes, and took it upon herself to rub Cas's head within an inch of its life with the towel. Then he pushed him upstairs, telling him to put on a nice warm sweater, and then to come back downstairs because she was making hot chocolate. Cas smiled. It had been a long time since he had done anything nice like that with someone in his family.

And later that night, he wouldn't admit it, because it would only be creepy if someone caught him, but he found out that he could see Dean's room from his window. Down and to the left, Cas stayed up long after Dean's light went out, doing homework and learning lines. And Cas discovered that he, in the most platonic way possible, liked to watch Dean sleep.

  



	7. An Unexpected Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas's relationship takes an unexpected turn.

The first read through wasn't bad, it was just extraordinarily long. At first, it took so long for everyone to show up, and then there were people panicking because they didn't have highlighters, and then there were people who couldn't read for their life and would take what seemed like years to read a sentence, and then Mrs. Patt would stop and explain something to the point where Dean wondered if this play would be any fun at all. Of course, there was the occasional snicker, but Mrs. Patt told everyone to be mature, and then Dean, with a face that was fifty shades of red, would continue to tell Joe how in love he was.

By the time rehearsal was over, Dean was incredibly ready to leave. But the witch was keeping him after to clean up and do a freaking inventory of the costume closet! He didn't get home until six o' clock, and as soon as he did, he went to bed.

The next day, it was same song, different verse. He woke up, went to school, and stayed after for rehearsal, only for Mrs. Patt to give him a clip board at the start of rehearsal and tell him to take attendance. So he got her back by yelling out names over her.  _Very_ obnoxiously. It was immensely satisfying.

And then, they moved on to practicing music, so he and Cas had to sing a duet, during which they supposedly fell in love. Apparently, it didn't click very well. So, Mrs. Patt sent them out into the hallway to fix "whatever is blocking you from getting into the true emotional feel of this scene" acting like the high school play was such a big deal. But she forced them out, so out they went.

"So, what's your favorite color?" Dean tried.

"Shut up, assbutt, take this seriously."

"Did you just call me an assbutt?" Dean couldn't help but laugh as Cas shrugged.

"Alright," Dean said again, trying to calm down but still grinning. "What is your... greatest ambition?" Did that sound too dumb? That probably sounded too dumb. Cas probably thought he was stupid now.

"To be an actor. Without a doubt," Cas answered.

So apparently that wasn't a stupid question. Dean felt his heart steady in relief. Why was he trying so hard around Cas, anyway? He shook his head, then nodded, which probably looked very comical. "Good, good. Alright, what's your biggest fear?"

"That I won't be good enough."

"Geez, you've thought about this, haven't you? Okay, now you ask me," Dean prodded. Except, he took a second to actually think about what Cas had said. To try to understand him.  _That I won't be good enough_. That's a pretty good fear. Because from what Dean could tell, Cas was good. He was good in himself, and he knew how to be the person he wanted to be. He was well on his way to achieving his goal. And what was Dean's fear? His Dad thinking he was gay. In relativity to the whole universe, Cas was doing so much better in life.

But then, Dean realized Cas was talking, so he tried to focus. "Oh, I'm not good at asking questions," he was saying, shaking his head. "Just - say something. Tell me about yourself. What's your life been like up to this point?"

Dean shuffled around, suddenly very uncomfortable. It was probably such a tell that he was full of some serious crap. Still, he tried to keep Cas out, and he just said, "There's not much to tell."

"Well, fine, then I'll do it," said Cas. "But, I'm actually going to spill my guts, so no laughing, and I expect equal compensation from you after, got it?"

"Maybe." Dean was actually anxious to see if Cas would go through with this.

Cas groaned. "Alright, well... I never knew my Mom." He took a deep breath. Apparently it was a lot harder to talk about than he thought. Dean knew that feeling all too well. "I've got lots of older brothers and sisters. Never really got to spend any time with my Dad. Hell, I... I've barely ever talked to him, more like I just talked at him. Something else always seemed to be more important than me, so I just... got over it. Learned to take care of myself. Pretty much my siblings raised me, then my Dad took off. A while ago now, actually, I forgot how long it's been. Haven't heard from him since. Is it crazy that I still... love him?" Cas looked down, a little lost in thought.

They seemed to clear their throats simultaneously.

But Dean knew that if he spent too much time thinking about what he was about to say, he would never find the nerve to say it, so he just started talking in a low voice, and it seemed like he was about to cry, too. "My, uh, Mom... died in a fire when I was four. I watched the house burn down around her, my Dad - tried to run in and save her but he wasn't - we weren't strong enough. I... held my baby brother in my arms as fire trucks pulled up to the house. They pulled my Dad out but they... it was too late for her. And you know what? I don't think my Dad's been sober since. He doesn't - beat us or anything like that. He just kid of... doesn't really care. ...I think about it every damn day."

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered. Dean hadn't realized how quietly he had been talking. They both must have looked like real idiots, about to cry in the school hallway. It was a good thing nobody was around to see it. Dean tried to catch his breath, hold everything back.

"No, I am," said Dean. "You don't care. It's dumb. Sorry, I'm just-"

"Stop," said Cas. Dean didn't understand. Weren't his problems just unnecessary burden? In relativity to the whole universe, he didn't matter at all. He was one tiny fraction of a speck, and his problems were even tinier, so why should he push his baggage onto other people?

Dean didn't know what to say, so he just wiped the stupid tear that dripped from his left eye. 

"You know, it's okay, if you just, I don't know, cry," Cas said quietly to Dean. "I won't ruin your big, tough image by telling anybody. Despite what you seem to think, I'm actually a nice person, Dean."

Dean slid down to the ground, pressing his palms to his eyes. He didn't want to cry in front of Cas. He didn't want to cry at all. Everything about him was just so stupid. But now that the dam had cracked, it was slowly breaking. Dean was crying. 

He wanted to stop. Desperately. He willed himself with all of his might to just _stop._ He tried holding his breath, but instead ended up doing a weird gasping/hiccuping thing, and Cas probably thought he was a freaking idiot.

And then, there was the strangest sensation. Not an awkward touch, but a comforting touch. From Cas. There was a warm hand on Dean's upper arm, almost his shoulder, pulling him up. Cas stabilized Dean, and gave him a hug. Dean didn't know how to react. Slowly, gratefully, he hugged back.

He couldn't describe it, because he didn't usually hug guys. There was some weird guy code about that, or something. But Cas seemed to be incredibly different from other guys, not caring about social customs, and it was strange, but it was a good strange. It was refreshing. So Dean allowed himself this one second of vulnerability with this one person who was giving him the opportunity without judging him or pitying him. After another second, he pulled back.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked. He took a step away from Dean, his hands falling to his sides.

Dean nodded, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs and taking a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah," he said. He looked at Cas, and extended his hand. "Thanks. Uh, I guess I'm sorry, for like, the stuff I've said or, like, implied. Friends?"

Cas gave a small smile, and stuck out his hand to meet Dean's, and they gave a short shake. Their hands dropped, and suddenly Dean's hand felt cold. He pushed the thought away and asked, "Man, do I look like I've been crying? That's the worst."

Dean waited as Cas surveyed his face, and sighed with relief as the other boy shook his head. "Are you ready to go back now?" Cas asked. "I'm sure Mrs. Patt won't appreciate us taking a long time."

"It hasn't been  _that_  long," Dean mused. "She's just crazy. I'm fine being away from her as long as possible. But, sure, let's go."

 

 

 

Dean was late getting home that day, because Mrs. Patt had been so obsessed with making sure Dean and Cas had "clicked" when they sang. Everyone else had gotten to leave on time, and, as a result, Dean and Cas were the only ones who missed the bus. By unspoken mutual agreement, they decided to walk home together.

"Hey, uh, I wasn't gonna talk about this," Dean began, "just for like convenience purposes so neither of us felt awkward. But, uh, you're not going to, like, tell anyone about before, right? Our chick-flick moment in the hallway?"

"Of course not," replied Cas. "That would make you uncomfortable."

"Uh, yeah," Dean agreed.

"Did you ever dry your car?" Cas asked. "I can see that you haven't been killed, so that appears to be a good sign."

Dean laughed. "Yeah," he said, grinning. "I had to work afterwards, and my friend Missouri helped me out, so no worries."

"I'm pleased," said Cas. "In truth, it is a very nice car."

Dean got that smile on his face again. He loved that car. He was sure that he looked like a total idiot, and it was a good thing that Cas didn't care about that kind of thing. He noticed that there were a few side glances between the two of them. Playing gay was really getting to his head... Guys couldn't just  _look_ at each other, that was weird, right?

The rest of their walk was spent with comfortable conversation. Absolutely, Dean preferred having Cas as a friend than an enemy. He was interesting, and said things that normal people wouldn't say, and it wouldn't be funny unless it was Cas saying it, because despite what he'd told Dean about his troubled past, he still felt sort of innocent. He just didn't understand normal things, so when he did talk about something, he had an entirely different view than average people on it. Dean felt his heart swell, and all he could think was  _fuck_ , because he'd been trying so hard for so long to avoid this part of himself. He couldn't afford to let his resolve crumble now.

It was blissful luck and cruel misfortune that had Dean arriving at his house. He was split directly in half, wanting to just keep walking with Cas, and wanting this to be over so he didn't make an ass of himself. When the choice was made for him, he simply bid Cas goodbye and walked up the small path to his house.

Once inside, it was apparent that John was home. He came in from the kitchen, staring at Dean with distaste. "And just where the hell have you been?" he asked. "You know I'm working the late shift tonight, and you had to be here to watch Sam!"

"Sorry, sir, rehearsal ran late, and-" Dean froze. He couldn't believe it. He could not believe it. How could he be such an idiot?! It was like he wasn't even capable of thinking! Was his mouth not connected to his brain at all? And now his entire life was about to be ruined, because what the hell else was new? All he ever did was screw everything up.

"Rehearsal?" John asked. He was probably hoping that he had merely heard Dean wrong. That had to have been the last thing he was ever expecting. His brain probably couldn't even process the information he was receiving.

Somehow, all Dean could do was stay silent. That was the wrong answer for John.

"You gonna talk, or what?" John prodded. He gestured with a nod of his head which would have spilled the beer in his hand, if there had been anything left in it to spill.

Dean was amazed he could find the courage to say it. Probably because it felt like he was in a nightmare, and convinced himself that he would wake up any second. "I joined the school play," he said.

John was silent for ten full seconds before he started laughing. It was a loud, wheezing cackle, and it gave Dean shivers. Or maybe he was just scared by where this conversation might turn from here. "Quit looking at me like a deer in headlights. What's the play?" John asked through laughter.

Dean swallowed. He felt tears well up in the back of his eyes, and he shoved them back as far as he could. Somehow, his throat felt tight. He swallowed again. "It's, uh, it's called-" Dean cleared his throat for a few seconds, then tried to start over. "It's called  _Playing Gay_."

John's laughter faded, but there was still amusement on his face. "Oh?" he asked, as if this was a joke. "Your school's doing a play on gays?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said in a low voice.

"What part did you get?" he asked. Clearly, he wasn't expecting the answer he was going to get. Probably because he thought that Dean didn't have any talent. His oldest son had one purpose, and that was to be the care taker and role model to Sam that John couldn't be.

"I'm Danny," said Dean.

"And who's _Danny?_ Some random-ass part-"

"He's the lead."

John squinted his eyes at Dean, setting his beer on the counter. "You got the lead? You're one of the gay guys?"

Dean swallowed and cleared his throat again. "Yes, sir." It took all of his willpower, and still, he had to look away from his father's hard gaze.

John's hand connected harshly with the side of Dean's head as he reached for his leather jacket, maybe not entirely on purpose. The pain stung through Dean's face, the first time John had ever laid a hand on him. There was no apology. Dean couldn't honestly admit that he expected one, clutching the side of his face, but he could have hoped for something more than a gruff order. "Watch Sam. I'm going to work."

 

 

 

Dean didn't realize when Sam sneaked past him. Well, maybe he did, but his brain didn't register it. He was buzzed, on the verge of drunk. John's whiskey stood on the table, next to a few spilled drops, and a yet-again-drained glass. And then he heard the door open, and his first thought was  _shitshitshitshit Dad's home_  and his second thought was  _who the hell even cares anyways_  because his head still had a dull ache echoing near a surely-formed bruise. So he poured himself another drink with slightly shaking hands. Not because of the drink, but because of the impending doom who was inevitably hanging his leather jacket on the coat rack this very second.

"Dean?"

That was not the voice of John Winchester. That voice was caring and soft. That voice had never berated Dean when he didn't deserve it. That voice had never haunted Dean's dreams as a symbol of strife and pain and longing to forget. That voice was deep and warm and scraggly in all the right ways.

Dean turned around to look, and he saw Cas standing there, next to Sam, the both of them looking extremely worried. "What are you doing, Dean?" Cas asked. His eyes were beseeching, searching Dean's face for a reason as though it were blatantly planted there.

"Having a drink, can't you tell?" slurred Dean. Maybe he had had a few more glasses than he thought. Was Cas supposed to be all blurry like that?

"You don't look very good, Dean," remarked Cas. He took a few hesitant steps closer, and Dean made no move in return, so he stepped forward again and pulled the bottle out of Dean's reach.

"Do I ever?" Dean retaliated. He hated himself for being so stupid. He should hate his Dad, but hey, he was doing the best he could with a closeted kid who could never do anything right. Sam, on the other hand, was perfect. He had perfect grades, perfect personality, perfect goals, perfect face, perfect confidence, perfect never-getting-in-Dad's-way, perfect everything. In comparison, Dean was like taking nothing, and somehow making a mess with it.

"Sam, can I speak with your brother alone, please?" asked Cas without taking his eyes off the drunk mess huddled in front of the sink. Sam nodded and left, closing the door to his room with a dull thud behind him. Dean prepared any sober part of his mind as best he could for the next conversation.

"Why are you drinking?" Cas asked. Dean tried very hard to make his eyes focus on the boy in front of him.

"Because my life is shit," Dean vented before he could stop himself. "I'm worthless. Literally worthless. I can't do anything right, and now my Dad knows I'm gay!"

Cas froze. "You're gay?" he asked, and if Dean hadn't been so drunk, he might not have missed a small gleam of hope in Cas's eyes.

"Well, no, I mean, yes, but no. Danny is gay, and I'm Danny, so Dad knows I'm Danny and Dad knows I'm gay!" Dean practically yelled. He took the glass he was holding and threw it against the wall. Hearing the glass shatter felt good, and he smiled lazily. Cas looked startled, and Sam's head poked in tentative alarm out of his door.

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Cas called. He started to pick up the largest of the glass with his hands, obviously not knowing where the Winchesters kept their broom. It was the saddest thing Dean ever saw, Cas cleaning up his mess without complaint. He felt guilt take up its familiar residence, like a black bubble made of tar swallowing up his throat and lungs.

"I'm sorry," Dean croaked through the tar and alcohol, and he tried to move, but found that that only triggered a most unpleasant feeling in his stomach, which he had no wish to feel again. Choking some vomit back, Dean settled himself onto the floor. It wasn't fair for Cas to see him like this, and to have to take care of him.

"It's fine, Dean. Please, just rest," Cas urged him, carefully putting the more tiny shards of glass into his palm. It was amazing that he wasn't getting cut. Dean didn't know how he did it.

"I'm the worst," Dean concluded aloud. He just wanted Cas to agree with him, for people to stop badly pretending that it wasn't true.

"I think you need to go to bed," Cas said, dumping the rest of the shards in the trash can. He grabbed a glass and began to fill it with water from the sink. "I'll take care of Sam tonight."

"You're not disagreeing with me," Dean noticed hopefully.

"It's impossible to reason with a man who is out of his wits," Cas said, hoisting Dean up by the shoulder again. "For the dehydration," Cas explained, forcing Dean to drink the whole glass of water. He pulled Dean to lean on him, and with Dean's directions, lead him to his room, and threw him on the bed. "Go to bed," Cas ordered quietly but firmly. He pulled off Dean's shoes, dropped them on the floor next to his bed. For good measure, he set another glass of water next to Dean's bed, and shut the door just as Dean's incoherent rambling faded.

 


	8. As Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later.

Dean regretted walking out of his bedroom the second he did it. His eyes flashed to the couch, which pretty much just served as John's bed now. But it was empty. Instead, there was a faint smell of eggs drifting out of the kitchen, and a barely noticeable sound of a sizzling frying pan. Dean wondered what Sam was doing, up so early and making breakfast for  _him_.

Cautiously, Dean walked into the kitchen, as if expecting a trap. No, wait, this was obviously his dads  _see-what-I'm-doing?-It's-to-convince-you-you're-not-gay_  plan.

John must have heard Dean come in, because he turned around and said, "Morning, Dean." For once, it wasn't gruff and annoyed. This was strange enough. Dean didn't know how to react to seeing John dressed before eight o' clock with a hand towel draped over his left shoulder as he worked at the stove. He was worried for a moment that he'd stepped into some sort of Twilight Zone. Rather than feeling safe, his guard multiplied heftily.

"Good morning, sir," Dean said unsurely. He took a hesitant step into the room now that escape was impossible. The predator had already seen him.

John shook his head as he stirred the scrambled eggs with a spatula. "No more 'sir,' Dean," John said. "Have a seat."

Dean couldn't think of what to say, so he sat. John didn't seem particularly hostile. Maybe they were just going to pretend that it hadn't happened. Or maybe John was disowning him, and that's why he'd said 'No more sir.' Dean carefully watched his father, and after a second, John turned off the stove and started filtering the eggs onto three plates.

"Sam!" John called. Dean expected the familiar 'front and center,' but all John finished with was, "Breakfast!" After a few seconds, Sam's head popped out of his bedroom door, looking confused.

"One minute, sir," he called. He probably expected some form of a trap as well.

"It's 'Dad' from now on, Sammy!" John called. "Take your time!" Dean didn't believe it for a second. This wasn't his father.

As he shouted, he set a plate in front of Dean, and across the table from him. He hesitated before getting the last one. "Listen, Dean. I know my reaction must have torn you up yesterday. Truth is, I just didn't know  _how_ to react. Then I realized that it wasn't your choice. And along with that, you can thank Missouri for getting it through this stupid old man's head that I've been just about the worst Dad ever. So I guess this is me trying to say sorry. You grew up too fast. That's on me, and I know we can't go back, but I'm hoping it's not too late for you to let me make it up to you."

This was the second time Dean had found himself speechless at his Dad this morning. He didn't want to pinch himself, because if this was a dream, he just wanted to enjoy it and think it was real while he could.

"Okay," Dean said, defeated. He wanted this to be true so badly, so he let himself believe it. His voice broke. He was defeated by two syllables. He felt dumb. John smiled sympathetically. A smile Dean had never seen before.

"Let's see that," John said. Dean involuntarily flinched when John reached for the side of Dean's head. He immediately regretted it, because he saw the flash of hurt that took residence in John's face. It made  _him_ feel guilty for everything his father's done. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean couldn't bring himself to reply. He held still as John's hand finished the journey, as John's gaze inspected his bruise. After a second of silence, Sam emerged from his room. John smiled, and it was one of the first times Dean ever saw it.

"You boys know you mean the world to me and more, right? Even if I'm hard on your and never show it?" John asked.

Dean's tongue felt numb, so he just clumsily nodded as Sam said, "Of course."

 

 

One week went by, and then another. Dean's life was going the best it had gone in a while. Besides Mrs. Patt coming down particularly hard on him at rehearsals (His duties now included passing out any and all paperwork, filling in for people who were absent, keeping everyone quiet backstage, locking up, designing pamphlets, printing pamphlets, folding pamphlets, recovering lost play books, making copies of music, and on top of all that he had to so his schoolwork, memorize songs and lines, still manage to eat regularly, and maintain a somewhat social life. Not to mention, for two and a half hours a day, he was now gay.), everything was perfect. His Dad was weening off the alcohol. Of course, he'd refused to go to rehab, and instead was going to a local AA every Wednesday.

Since the whole thing was very badly communicated in the discussion of the play following the breakfast John had started to shape up, Dean had accidentally come out to his Dad, thinking the guy had already known. All at once, it was like a tension he didn't know he'd been holding was released. John said he was fine with that, and Sammy said he didn't care, and then John let Dean drive the Impala to school. All of a sudden, he was a thousand times more comfortable with himself, and confident. All of his friends (now mostly theater nerds) had noticed, and commented on it, too.

That day was a Thursday, and as the final bell rang, Dean prepared for rehearsal in the usual way: by not moving at all. As usual, he and Mrs. Patt waited in silence. As usual, Cas was the first person in the room. As usual, he took his seat next to Dean. As usual, Dean grinned while he tentatively smiled back.

As usual, Dean got a little flutter in his stomach.

A few other people trickled in, but Dean didn't notice or care. For some reason, he was unable to stop smiling at Cas. All he was doing was grabbing his script out of his bag, but all the same...

"Cas!" came a sudden shout, and Charlie hurried to sit in front of Dean, as usual. That snapped him back to reality. "You left this at my house yesterday," she said to Cas, throwing him a gray hat.

Dean wasn't worried. It was common knowledge that Charlie was a lesbian. But Dean asked in a light tone anyway. "Why was Cas at your house?"

"I took him on a new adventure," Charlie answered. "It was this great thing called buying new clothes, since he has obviously never done it before."

Dean laughed and Cas ducked his head shyly, putting on the hat. Dean's laugh faded as he realized it was a beanie. Fuck. Everybody looked more attractive in a beanie. Was it really fair to give Cas  _that_ much of an advantage? He was already gorgeous, with perfect sex hair every day, and eyes that were the bluest blue to ever blue. Not to mention he was funny and sarcastic and crazy smart. And when he got talking about theater, and those bluest blues filled with passion. Or when he looked at Dean, and Dean's hands got all sweaty and he couldn't help but smile stupidly. The way Cas made every day better simply by  _existing_ -

"Dean?" Cas asked. Apparently Dean had been staring again.

"Get a razor next time, weirdo. You're getting stubble," Dean muttered, then brushed his thumb like he assumed a mom would across Cas's jaw, feeling the firm bone there. He suppressed a swallow.

Apparently, the room had filled without Dean's notice, because now Mrs. Patt was telling everybody to go to the auditorium, that they were going to continue blocking.

"Dean - attendance," Mrs. Patt ordered, handing him a familiar clipboard. Dean took it without question, and for once, he marked the sheet silently as Mrs. Patt made announcements.

Afterwards, as she always did since a week ago, Mrs. Patt called 'Destiel on stage.' This was because lest Tuesday, she had meant to call "Dean and Castiel" to the stage, but apparently, because that was too many fucking syllables, she'd accidentally called "Destiel" to the stage. Now Dean and Castiel were always referred to this way. Dean had to act like he minded sometimes.

So Dean hopped on stage as Cas took the stairs. He tried not to drool at the sight of the beanie, which definitely succeeded in making Cas more attractive. Dean hadn't previously thought that possible. He was glad to be proven wrong.

"Scene twelve," Mrs. Patt ordered.

Dean did a mental sweep, and remembered that scene twelve was the big scene. Danny told Joe how he felt, and Joe realized that just because he didn't like guys didn't mean that he didn't like Danny. Apparently, this scene had to be "perfect" according to Mrs. Patt, so they'd been practicing it quite a lot. It wasn't a bad scene, but if they did it too many times, they might lose the spark, in Dean's opinion.

"Danny starts," Mrs. Patt said, taking her usual seat in the front row of the auditorium, opening her script, and waiting patiently.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to get into the mind-set of being Danny. Cas had given him a few tips on acting, and it might have just been a school play, but they were going to  _kill it_.

"Joe, listen, I know you're mad at me, but I'm sorry," Dean said, putting on his puppy dog eyes and staring at Cas. He was mostly off-book by now, but currently used it as a security blanket while he could.

"Mad?" Cas asked, throwing his arms in the air. "You humiliated me! The whole football team thinks I'm queer! I was already harassed by them enough, and you think that 'sorry' is the answer to everything?" Cas, of course, was word perfect.

"It's my fault," Dean said quietly, remembered Mrs. Patt drilling into his skull that Danny was beating himself up about this. All he wanted was for Joe to be happy, and it was his fault that Joe was hurting. Danny would accept the punishment, and any anger Joe had towards him. Perfect casting, really. "I'll try to talk to them. But it's my fault."

"I know it's your fault," Cas said. Dean tried to pretend for a moment that this was really Cas mad at him, and it stung. He forced himself to keep going, and his eyes actually welled up with tears for a moment. Christ, he was such a freaking girl over this crush on Cas. It wasn't healthy at all. Dean imagined Cas telling him that his pain was Dean's fault. "Why would you say that in front of them? That you love me? Even jokingly?"

"Because I do love you, Cas."

It took Dean exactly one stuttered heart beat to realize his mistake.

"Joe. Sorry, Joe. Joe," Dean murmured, shaking his head. He felt a huge blush spread on his cheeks, his forehead, the back of his neck. His heart started hammering. His palms were sweaty, and his entire body tingled. He turned away from Cas, hearing the gasps and the snickers back stage.  _Shit_.

"You-you what?" asked Cas.

Dean turned back around. It was okay. Cas was a professional. He was still going along with the script. But there was clearly something in the air now. A noticeable tension.

"I said I love you," Dean said, "And I know you hate me, and you have every right to. But I just want you to know why I said it. I wasn't joking."

Cas stood in silence for a second, and  _damn_  he could act. The fear in his eyes was  _real_. Dean wondered for a second if he was even acting. Maybe Dean had just ruined everything, and they would never even be friends now.

"I need to think," Cas said, then walked off stage. Dean felt his actual heart sink.

Clearly, Mrs. Patt could tell something was off. She called everybody on stage. There was a slight air of unrest. "Okay, shifting gears," she said briskly. It was obvious that everyone was distracted and unnerved. "Cas, we still need to get you fitted for your costume. Mr. Kripke can sew that for you." And, of course, Dean should have expected her to call on her favorite helper monkey. "Dean, I'll assume you know how to measure?"

So Dean pulled Cas into the now empty drama room, tape measure in hand. He was already working through a few different apologies to try. Instead, all he did was ask, confused, "Elbow to wrist is a thing you measure, right?"

Cas sighed, smirking. "Shoulder width. Chest size. Shoulder to wrist. Shoulder to mid-thigh. Waist. And, er, inseam," he recited.

"Inseam?" Dean asked. "What the hell is that? And how do you know that stuff, nerd?" He hoped that Cas might just forget about it, and they could still fix this.

"Inseam is, uh, upper thigh to ankle."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Are you, like, cool with me doing that?" Dean asked. He imagined himself touching Cas's inner thigh, and then had to snap himself out of it. He had already screwed things up enough today.

Cas cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, I guess." He didn't sound so sure.

"Alright, well then, what were those things again? I need to write them down..." Dean muttered, shuffling over to Mrs. Patt's desk and searching for a pen and paper.

As he found them, Cas said again, "Shoulder width. Chest size. Shoulder to wrist-"

"Hold on, hold on! You're going way too fast," Dean said. "Go again."

"Shoulder width. Chest size. Shoulder to wrist. Got that? Okay, Shoulder to mid-thigh. Waist. Inseam. And that's just if you want the basic stuff," Cas said. He seemed to be relieved of the conversation topic being changed.

"Geez, how do you know that?" Dean muttered, smirking, as he finished jotting down the words as Cas recalled them.

"I read it," Cas explained. "Sometimes useless information comes in handy. You're welcome. Especially since you seemed so eager to prove Mrs. Patt wrong. Even though she was right."

Dean just nodded. He'd been listening to Cas, but not  _listening_. He brought the pen and paper over and sat them on a desk nearby. Then he grabbed the measuring tape and uneasily approached Cas. "So, uh, how's life?" he asked.

Dean tried to listen, he really did, but Cas's shoulders were unusually warm, and his voice was so gravelly, receding into perfect background noise. Dean didn't even really concentrate on the measurement. He just wrote a number that seemed like it would be accurate.

Next was chest size. Dean suddenly became all too aware of the silence surrounding them as he walked around Cas, "measuring" definitely not being any code word for checking out his ass. Another measurement written down. Maybe being Mrs. Patt's helper monkey wasn't so bad.

Then it was shoulder to wrist. He was so focused on Cas, Dean had completely forgotten the silence. It was definitely enjoyable, having an excuse to touch Cas so gently and intimately. Especially the next one, shoulder to mid thigh.

But now that Dean thought about it, the silence  _was_  strange. It was just Cas watching Dean touching Cas. But it wasn't awkward. And suddenly, Dean realized exactly how close he and Cas were. Their noses were almost touching. Their bodies were nearly pressed together. Dean's mind completely blanked on the measurement as he went to write it down. All he could focus on was how suddenly hot it had become. He wrote down another random number.

Waist.

Cas lifted his arms slightly, and Dean started to slowly wind himself around. For the first time, he spoke again. "Can you hold that there? Thanks," he murmured. Cas's fingers brushed Dean's, and Dean nearly jolted at the warm tingle of sparks he felt. After that, the silence resumed, and Dean was nearly drinking in the sight of Cas. After all, how many opportunities like this would he get?

_Shit, I am so gay._

This was the only coherent thought Dean could hold on to at the moment.

Inseam.

Dean stood for a second, pretending to double check the measurements he'd already made, when really he was just trying to slow his heart rate. Christ, he was being so fucking obvious. Cas had to know by now.

What would Cas do? If he found out Dean had fallen for his own act? What would happen to the play? What would happen to the both of their reputations? And, of course, Cas would never talk to him again. That much was obvious.

Inseam, Dean reminded himself. He collected his thoughts and walked back over to Cas, kneeling down. For a split second, he allowed himself to fantasize that he was kneeling in front of Cas for an entirely different reason. He swallowed. That was definitely not a boner coming on. He choked back another swallow and pictured a brick wall. A plain old brick wall. Nothing could go wrong there.

Until, of course, Cas was being pushed into view by Dean, and they were furiously kissing and-

Dean was sure his blush was a violent shade of red, but he was careful to keep his face blank, and he pictured anything he could think of to calm down. Bees, bread, binoculars, bronchitis.

And then it was over.

Dean jotted down the measurement - whatever it was - and his blush eventually faded back to skin tone.

"Ready to go back?" Dean asked, and he was impressed by how neutral he sounded, and eternally grateful for it. Cas cleared his throat and nodded. The two didn't speak until they got back into the auditorium. Mrs. Patt collected the paper from Dean and skimmed over it quickly.

"Dean, do you know how to measure?" she repeated. "It's not actually possible for somebody's length from shoulder to wrist to be thirty nine inches."

"What?" Dean asked. His mind was still a little clogged by all the what-ifs of a moment ago."Oh - yeah. I probably just screwed up that one part."

"Go do it again," Mrs. Patt ordered. "Make sure they're  _all_ correct. Unless you can't get it right on your first try."

So Cas and Dean headed back to the drama room, and Dean started measuring again. This time was much worse than the last time. No matter what, Dean couldn't slow his pulse, and his hands were shaking.

Somehow, Dean's face got incredibly close to Cas's again, and they were both suddenly distracted. For a second, all they did was stare.

And then they were kissing.

Dean wasn't sure who initiated, but he was glad either way. One of the only thoughts that flashed through his foggy head was,  _So that's what he'd do_.

Dean wrapped his hands around Cas's waist, pulling the other boy closer, until their hips were touching. Cas's hands ended up around Dean's shoulders, tangling into his hair. Contrary to Dean, this was obviously not Cas's first time kissing a guy. Dean found himself to be oddly jealous at that, and a little turned on.

Suddenly, Cas's mouth was open, and Dean's tongue was inside it, and he couldn't believe it because he was  _actually_  making out with Castiel Novak. And damn, it felt good. It was just like kissing a girl, except so much sexier, because one: it was  _Cas_. And two: Cas's shirt was bunched up in Dean's hands and their chests were flat against each other, and  _god_  that was such a turn on that Dean wasn't surprised when he started to feel everything head south. But he didn't want to freak Cas out, so he pulled away, and for a second, they looked at anything but each other.

What exactly were you supposed to say when something like this happened? Dean ventured with humor. "So that was... an interesting development." Cas didn't exactly chuckle.

"Oh my God," he said, burying his head into his hands and sitting down. That beanie still looked as attractive as ever, and maybe even more so than before. "That was all my fault. I'm so sorry. I can't  _believe_  I just-"

"Whoa, Cas, wait," Dean said, joining Cas on the ground. "Calm down. It's alright. You were doing me a favor."

Cas looked up, bleary eyed. "What?" he asked. Dean couldn't blame him for being confused. "But, you're like... achingly heterosexual. And I've screwed everything up. God, I was so  _careful_."

Dean didn't know how to respond sufficiently, so he bought himself time by giving Cas another kiss. Cas didn't object. "That is what I think of you, Cas," Dean said.

"You're joking," Cas mumbled. But he was smiling, and that made Dean's heart soar.

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked, standing up and grinning. "You didn't notice me just now - I was a freaking trembling, stuttering mess. How could you  _not_  get that I like you, you idiot?"

Cas cleared his throat and ducked his head away, but Dean totally knew he was smiling. He wished Cas wouldn't look away. Seeing Cas smile was one of his favorite things.

"So, what do we do now?" Cas asked.

"Well, I should probably concentrate on whatever-the-hell numbers I'm seeing and put them down right," Dean said, standing up. Cas nodded and followed suit, while Dean recovered the tape measure he'd dropped to the floor.

"You know, I also kinda meant the thing where we just kissed. We might wanna, I mean, like... Do you want to... date? Oh god I'm so awkward. Sorry, no, you don't have to-"

Dean chuckled to make Cas feel better. His voice had been reaching unusually high levels. "Actually, I think I do," he answered, grinning, and Cas grinned right back. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas to measure his waist. "So, how about, tonight we... I don't know, go on a date?"

"I think we should," Cas agreed, smiling. Dean was elated.

 


	9. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go on a date.

Dean's fingers had trembled as he'd called his Dad. Cas had left to give his measurements to Mrs. Patt, and after what felt like a thousand questions about Cas, John had hung up, giving Dean permission to stay out until eleven. Dean sighed in relief as he put his phone back in his pocket, and on the quick walk back to the auditorium, he tried to think of a few ideas for their date.

As soon as he walked inside, he saw Cas talking to Charlie backstage. Charlie seemed to be jumping up and down and trying not to squeal. As Dean neared, he heard her whisper (although it sounded more like a shout), "... _told you no heterosexual man comments on another man's chin stubble!_ "

"So I guess you told Charlie," Dean said to introduce himself. He wasn't mad. He would have told Charlie, too.

"Dean!" Cas exclaimed, looking startled. "Uh, yeah, is that okay? I didn't, erm, go into detail about what happened. You know, in the..."

"It's okay," Dean said, staring at Cas. He just loved looking at that face. The lips were a little bloodshot, and a thrill ran through Dean when he realized that that was _his_ doing. 

"God, I hope you're using protection with all of that eye sex going on, guys," Charlie scoffed. "I can see this is quickly going to get uncomfortable for me. Live long and prosper, bitches." And then she left.

Dean grinned, and if there weren't so many people around, he might have kissed Cas again. Instead, Cas just asked, "So, what do you want to do tonight?"

If possible, Dean grinned even wider. "Just trust me. I have a few ideas."

 

 

  


"I refuse to be in the place of the woman on this date, Dean. Tell me where we're going," Cas demanded as rehearsal was let out and Dean escorted Cas to the Impala. (John had given it to Dean about a week ago, as an I'm-sorry-for-being-a-shit-dad gift.)

Dean stopped in his tracks, waiting for most of the other kids to get in their cars and drive away, before he took Cas's hand. "Cas, no," Dean said sternly. He needed this message in Cas's head. "You are not representing the girl. We are both guys, and we are both representing guys. It's just my choice to treat you specially. I want it to be a surprise because I want to see you when you look surprised. Because I want to make you happy. And next time, if you want, you can make the decisions. Got it?" Dean smiled, to show that he wasn't angry or put into a bad mood.

Cas nodded. "Okay, Dean," he said. He gave a small smile, which in turn made Dean smile.

"Then let's go," he said quietly, happily, and led Cas to the car. He opened the passenger door for Cas, then quickly scooted around to the other side so as not to keep Cap waiting. After a lot of badgering, Cas closed his eyes, and Dean started driving.

"I like the sound of your car," Cas commented as they drove. Dean had never realized just how loud the humming engine was. It had become second nature to him. He smiled to himself, because he knew Cas couldn't see it.

"Keep your eyes closed," was all Dean said. "Just two more streets."

Their town wasn't the most urban, but it also was not rural. Seeing as it was almost the weekend, the streets were pretty busy that afternoon. As soon as they pulled up outside of a bookstore, Dean told Cas to open his eyes. When he did, Cas smiled. The bookstore was tall, and built out of a wood that was painted light brown. There was an intricate sign above the glass door that was labeled with intricate gold letters, and the inside looked well-lit and warm.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"I think that this was a very good choice," replied Cas. His eyes had a nice sparkle to them, and Dean's eyes lit up with them. He opened the door and got out. "Any books you want."

Cas laughed. "You really shouldn't have said that," he said dangerously, then pulled Dean inside. Dean watched in amusement as Cas carefully began to walk down the first row. He surveyed every book like it had equal potential, but for the most part, nothing seemed to spark his interest. Dean hardly realized it might be a little weird that he was just watching Cas, like the best treat he could get was for Cas to be happy.

In the end, after walking down ever aisle, after carefully examining every book, Cas had narrowed it down to four selections. He looked at Dean with big puppy dog eyes, and the deal was sealed. They waited in line for a few minutes before it was their turn at the register. Dean pulled out his wallet and paid for Cas.

"You know, I saw you boys while you were browsing," said the woman behind the desk. She had graying blonde hair, and a kind wrinkly face. "My son has a young man for a partner, too. I think it's real nice that you're so out in the open about it. How long have you been together?"

"Uh, this is our first date," answered Dean a little awkwardly. He really didn't like it when cashiers tried to make small talk, even if this woman seemed nice enough.

"Well, I wish the best of luck to you both," she said, handing Dean his change and handing Cas the bag of books. "I noticed the way you looked at this young man." She turned to Cas with a smile. "You are very fortunate, young man."

Cas smiled shyly in return, but didn't say anything. Dean found it frankly adorable. With a small nudge from Cas, they both walked outside.

"So, what did you score?" Dean asked as they got to the car. Cas was digging through the bag excitedly, pulling out the new books. Three were paperback, and one hardcover. They were all incredibly shiny. 

Cas offered the books for Dean to inspect. One was titled  _The Misfortune of Peter Everett_ , another  _No Truth Lost_ , the next  _When One Hides Away_ , and the last one, simply  _Wings_. Dean handed them all back. "They look good," he noted, staring at the fronts, but not having time to read the backs. He wanted to keep Cas entertained, so he started the car and let Cas inspect his prizes as Dean drove to their next stop.

When they arrived, Cas looked up from his book. He was currently holding  _Wings_ , a novel that looked like a person opening a doorway with white light flooding through, their shadow revealing black wings on the floor, with blurred edges all around. "A cafe?" Cas asked.

"Close enough," Dean said. It _was_ a cafe, and a popular place in their town. But Dean didn't think anybody important from their school would be there right now. He brought Cas inside, and they found a small booth near the back. It was private, and the place was bright in contrast to the clouds that were forming in the sky outside. The place smelled of coffee and cookies.

Cas was looking around curiously as Dean looked at a nearby chalkboard for the menu. He reached across the table and grabbed Cas's hand, hoping the other boy would like it. From the way Cas grabbed back, he did.

"I'm thinking about a hazelnut coffee. What do you want?" Dean asked, trying to decide between just a coffee or something else, too. He craned his neck a little, accidentally bumping into Cas. He was extremely embarrassed, stammering out an apology, until he felt Cas kiss the side of his head and heard him giggle. Dean was sure he was blushing furiously.

"Let me pay this time," Cas insisted. "The book weren't cheap and I have a little money."

"It's fine," Dean told Cas. "I like treating you. I've been picking up some extra hours at the shop, so it's alright."

Cas reached into his back pocket. "Well, I've already got my wallet out," he said. "And I know you want a hazelnut coffee. So I could just walk right up there, order it, and pay for it."

"No, I will be the chivalrous one."

"No, I will."

"No,  _I_ will."

"Or what?"

"Hey! Get your shit and get out of here," came a deep, unfamiliar voice. Suddenly the light was blocking their faces. Dean and Cas looked up to see Gordon Walker.

"I'm sorry?" asked Cas. He squinted up at Gordon.

"Y'all fags need to leave," spat Gordon. "Shoulda known that fuckin' play would turn you fuckers into this despicable shit. Can't tell you what the fuck is wrong with that place, inspiring people to be fags. You think having sex with men is hot? I'll tell you where it's real hot. Hell. Y'all are gonna burn there for eternity for this shit. And you deserve it."

Dean stared at Gordon. "Leave us alone, thanks," he said. "We're not bothering you."

"Did you _hear_ what I said, fag?" Gordon reiterated. He took a step closer, right into Dean's personal space. Dean could feel Cas turn almost as tense as he was. "You're gonna make me puke up my goddamn pastries, I see any more of this shit."

"Then don't look," said Dean quietly. He didn't want to fight with Gordon, but he was crossing the line. What kind of a dick singled people out like this just for having a good time?

"You keep talkin' like that, you're gonna get your ass beat. And I'm gonna make sure of it," Gordon growled. His eyes were dangerous, reflecting the warm light of the cafe with new malevolence. "I'm gonna ask nice one more time. Get the hell out of this goddamn place, or I will end your miserable lives."

"Dean, let's just go," Cas said, pulling Dean's hand. Gordon didn't move, and Dean had to scoot around him to get up. Normally he wouldn't, but he didn't want any trouble. He didn't want to ruin Cas's day any more than it already was.

As they approached the Impala, Dean leaned on the hood. He ran his hands through his hair in distress. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said, feeling weak in spite of the fact that his Gordon had just threatened to kill the both of them. "I should've known-"

"Dean, how could you have possibly known that Gordon would be a homophobic asshole today?" Cas asked. "Really, it's - I'm fine. Are  _you_  okay?"

Dean felt a small tear gather in his eyes, but he pushed it back before Cas could see. "I just really wanna kick that douche where it hurts," he said. His voice cracked.

There was an awkward silence for a minute.

"Cas, I - okay, here's the thing. I really like you. Okay, I do. More than I've ever really liked anybody. But there are other people like Gordon Walker at our school, and in this town. I think... right now I think it's best if we don't see each other. Maybe just until the play blows over, I don't know, but, like I can't... I can't deal with that all the time. I mean, I just got the bad voices  _out_  of my head-" Dean froze. He'd never told anybody about that. Cas immediately picked up on it.

"Dean, what?" he asked.

"I said, I think we should not do this again. At least for now," Dean said.

Cas simply looked at Dean. Dean tried to convince himself that he didn't see Cas's heart breaking. "Okay," he said simply.

Dean offered to drive Cas home, so Cas got in. The ride was silent.

  



	10. Recovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't very good at getting over Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! It's taken a long time to update because I was so busy (procrastinating) doing (procrastinating) Halloween (procrastinating) stuff (procrastinating) and (procrastinating) like (procrastinating) school (procrastinating) I guess. Anyways, it's short and not very good, but the next update I hope will be (soon) a lot better.

It was a very frustrated and irate Mrs. Patt who ended the rehearsal about a half hour early that day. She left Cas alone, but didn't seem to mind lecturing Dean about how they had "lost their connection" or whatever. Once she was finished ranting, she told him to clean up and go home.

There wasn't much to clean. Just a few stray props backstage and one costume off its hanger. He was getting used to the haunting feeling of being in the auditorium alone, even if he didn't like it. Dean was finished fairly quickly, and then he was in his car - he loved saying that.  _His_  car - and driving to his house.

As he pulled into the driveway, he just sat for a minute and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, that was all. He hadn't slept well last night. And it wasn't because he was sad about Cas. Or, crushed, really, was what he was. Or... wasn't... He understood now why it was called heartbreak. He understood why people chose not to date. He understood why people kept themselves out of relationships and weren't foolish enough to actually  _get attached_  to each other.

He forced himself to get out of his car. His arm reached out with a jerky movement to grab the handle as his body fought the movement. Ultimately, he won, and shut the car door a little too forcefully, feeling a little twinge of guilt.

Sam was already home by the looks of things. His backpack was carelessly tossed on the front table with his jacket lying on top of it. For some reason, Dean felt as though he absolutely could not sit still and do homework right now. He couldn't lounge around and watch television. And it definitely was not because he didn't want to find something to occupy his mind, so he wouldn't think about Cas. So he decided to go in his backyard and rake. After all, Halloween was actually pretty close - next week, now that he thought of it - and when was the last time someone had raked back there anyway?

The rake was in the tool shed, which was just behind the house. It was a gray building composed mainly of metal sheets that rattled much too loudly in heavy rain, sometimes keeping Dean awake at night. He cringed as the door made a high pitched, scratchy shriek when he opened it.

"Nails on a chalkboard..." he muttered to himself, grabbing the wooden rake with the rusty metal head. There was a little bit of material to prevent splinters, but not in the places Dean actually held the rake. He sighed, then surveyed the yellow, orange, and dead leaves that littered the otherwise green lawn. After a second of hesitation, he set to work.

Very quickly, it became too hot for him to wear his jacket. He'd been neglecting his work outs, getting flabby. He was actually sweating. Actually, it was still rather warm, so he had a little bit of an excuse. Nevertheless, he let the rake fall to the ground and pulled off his leather jacket, throwing it onto the steps that led to his back door.

That was when he noticed Cas sitting under a tree a few yards away, staring at him.

The breath was knocked out of him for a minute, and Cas quickly looked down. Dean felt a few tears spark behind his eyes, but choked them back down. This whole thing was so stupid. He and Cas obviously liked each other. Why should other people get a say in their relationship? Why should assholes get to define the limits of love? Or, um... really liking somebody.

Well, now Dean was knee-deep in horse shit. He couldn't just not talk to Cas. And he couldn't just go back inside with a half-raked yard. But he  _couldn't_  talk to Cas. "Hey, Cas!"  _Shitshitshit_. "You, uh, wanna run lines while we're out here? Like, uh, you over there and me over here... raking." The last word came out with difficulty. His voice cracked.

Dean suddenly found it incredibly hard to swallow. And why the hell were his hands so sweaty? Why did Cas suddenly seem so much more important and cool than him? Why was he suddenly worried about the holes in the knees of his jeans and the sweat stains surely forming on his shirt? Why was he picturing scenarios of him and Cas raking all the leaves and jumping in the pile together and kissing? Why did seeing Cas make him so incredibly happy, yet so incredibly sad at the same time?

"...Sure." Only Cas didn't sound sure. The word sounded tentative and fearful. "Um, what scene do you want to do?"

"Whatever one you want to do. We can go from the top of the show if you want." That's what Dean said. But what he was thinking was that he couldn't possibly pretend to fall in love with Cas right now. He was thinking that he was such an idiot for ever letting stupid fucking Gordon Walker tell him how to think. And he was thinking that it was too late to take it back, even though more than anything, that was the only thing he wanted.

"Scene Two is the first scene that we're together in, I think," said Cas. Dean knew he was just saying 'I think' to sound casual. Cas knew that play inside and out by now. He smiled, because he had a sudden funny thought.

"What are you laughing at?" Cas asked.

"Just... I was thinking, no it's stupid," Dean said, shaking his head. In order to hide his blush, he made a half-hearted attempt to resume raking. But, apparently, Cas wasn't having that.

"Please tell me," Cas persisted. "Was it something I said?"

"I was thinking, and I thought,  _He probably uses plays as a source of energy other than food_. I don't know, I'm stupid. Sorry," Dean muttered, looking down. He heard a small laugh come from Cas, but knew that it wasn't genuine. In truth, Dean wasn't a funny person. Why had Cas ever wanted to date him?

"Well, scene two it's your line first," Cas said, suddenly sounding much more official. Dean looked up, and Cas's eyes looked dull and tired.  _He didn't sleep well last night either..._

Cas's eyes made contact with Dean's. Dean racked his brain. Where was he? Suddenly, he couldn't remember his lines at all. What was the play they were doing again? He sighed heavily, reached up and scratched the back of his head. "Help me out here?" he asked.

"No. You know this," prodded Cas.

Suddenly, it came to him. He sang a song, and then he said, "Aw, gee. I got so much homework tonight, it ain't even funny."

"Good," Cas said, beaming. "And then Tony says, 'Yeah, me, too. That Mr. Hawk is a menace. I should get home.' Exit Tony, enter Joe, just as Danny gets to the bus stop."

"Hey, I know you. You're Joe. You're in my math class."

"That's correct," Cas replied, slipping into the familiar stature of Joe. His head slumped, and his usually solid figure started to look just the slightest bit taller and thinner. "And your name is Danny. You shoved me into a fountain once."

"Right, and then we have an awkward silence for a second," Dean recalled. He suddenly remembered he was supposed to be raking. "And I say, 'Did I? Sorry about that. I was probably with the guys, right?'"

"That's correct," Cas said again.

"Man, this, uh, bus is sure taking a while to get here," Dean muttered.

"This bus is usually late," Cas said. "If you don't mind, this conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere. We should save ourselves the trouble and stop trying."

So they waited in an awkward silence again, until Dean said, "You know, I really don't think the bus should take-"

"No," Cas cut off, just like he was meant to. "I'm serious-"

Dean threw the rake down onto the ground. "I love hearing you voice," he said quickly.

"I - what?" Cas asked, his eyes widening. He inched back a little.

"I said I love hearing your voice," repeated Dean. "And I love waiting for you to walk into rehearsal. And I love whenever I see you in the hallway, even if it's just for a second. And I love the way your hair never stays down, and I love your eyes, and I love watching you act, and I love paying for your books and I love driving you on dates and I love it when you wear a beanie and I love seeing your eyebrows crinkle when you're studying and I love-"

Dean was abruptly cut off from his list (which he had only just begun) as he felt something extremely warm on his mouth. And then he realized that it was  _Cas's lips_. And then he just felt extremely warm all over. But he kissed back, and cursed his weak will. It hadn't even been a  _whole day_. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's lower back, pulling the boy who was shorter by only an inch or two into him. Cas was smiling into the kiss and tangling his hands in Dean's hair.

When they broke apart, Dean said, "I'm sorry. I was a real idiot yesterday."

"I know," Cas replied. "But it's okay. At least you have me to fix your messes."

"I think I fixed my own mess pretty well just now," Dean teased, kissing Cas again quickly. Cas's lips chased Dean back until he was forced to let go, and they were both smiling. "Did I mention I love kissing you? Well, I do."

Cas smiled again, pulling Dean onto the ground. They landed in a tiny pile of leaves, so it smelled like autumn all around them. Dean reached a hand down, intertwining his fingers with Cas's. Cas bit his lip. He suddenly looked worried.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"It's just... there are other people like Gordon at our school. They wouldn't be happy to find out about us. We should just... not tell anyone, if that's okay," Cas muttered.

Dean leaned over and kissed Cas. "As long as I get to keep kissing you, we can do whatever you want," he said. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," Cas insisted. "I mean, I was sort of a wreck yesterday afterwards, but now I'm okay. Shit - I didn't mean to say that. Sorry, I-"

"Hey, I did the worst thing," Dean insisted. "Don't be sorry."

Somehow, in the next fifteen minutes, Cas ended up with a book in his hands, reading to Dean. Dean had since gotten cold again, and had draped his jacket over the both of them as much as he could, like a blanket, and was snuggled into Cas's side.

" _Sometimes, I like to imagine I have wings_ ," he read out. " _Huge, colossal wings, almost like an Angel's, expect they're pitch black. They're what set me apart from everybody else. They're what make it so I can't live a normal life._ "

Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair while he read. They were both smiling, and at some points Cas had to pause because Dean was tickling the back of his neck. They didn't get very far into the book, as they were often interrupted by make out sessions. 

"Dean, uh..."

Dean and Cas suddenly broke apart. Dean's face turned a violent shade of red as he turned to look at his brother, standing on the back stairs.

"Hello, Sam," Cas greeted, smiling. He didn't seem to be disturbed in the least by the sudden entrance.

"Hey, Cas," said Sam. He smiled pleasantly in return. "My Dad wants to know if you want to stay for dinner."

Dean, if possible, turned even redder. This meant that at some point that night, John had looked out the window and seen them. When had he even gotten home? What time was it?

Then Dean realized that Cas was glancing down at him for confirmation, seeing if this way okay. "Whatever you want to do," Dean said. Cas squeezed Dean's hand reassuringly under the jacket.

"I think that will be very nice, Sam," Cas answered. "Tell him thank you, and yes, please."

So Sam nodded, and let the back door shut with a slam. After that, Cas went back to reading, but Dean wasn't paying as much attention as he could have been.

 

 

 

Halloween rolled around, and Cas showed up on Dean's porch at six o' clock donning a set of black angel wings. Dean wrinkled his eyebrows upon Cas's arrival. "Somebody likes their book," he mused.

Cas rolled his eyes. There was a thin rim of wire circulating his head that probably served as some sort of halo. "Your fault," Cas said. "Come on, I bought candy. The trick-or-treaters are starting."

"You _bought_ candy? Cas, you know how Halloween works, right? You go to  _other people_ for candy," Dean emphasized slowly, dramatically.

"No you don't. Well, no _I_ don't. I love handing out candy. We're going to sit on the porch and hand out candy all night, Dean. I like to look at the costumes and speak to the children. It doesn't get cold until late. Please, will you come over and hand out candy with me?" Cas asked. His eyes were full, shining with his plea.

Dean looked over his shoulder, then back at Cas. "I was just going to watch movies... Uh, sure, I guess. Sam's out. Dad's at AA... Alright, let's do it, I guess. But if my house gets egged, your cleaning it up," Dean relented. He let Cas tug him out the door and next door to sit on Cas's small front porch, which was really just a gathering of marble stairs leading to a screen door, then a wooden door with a small ornamental ghost hanging with the exclamation  _Boo!_ underneath the rectangular glass window.

"But you need a costume," Cas decided firmly.

"I don't have a costume," Dean said immediately. "And I really don't-"

But then Cas kissed him, so Dean was pretty much done for. Cas ran into his house and up the stairs while Dean waited on the porch and awkwardly passed out candy to kids still young enough to walk around. Cas came out while Dean was handing a Reese's cup to a blonde pumpkin. He covered Dean's eyes, kissed his forehead, and placed the fabric of the costume in the bowl over the candy. There was disbelief in Dean's eyes the second he opened them.

"Cas, what the fuck is this?" he asked, holding up a pair of tights.

Cas stepped down, looking like his heart was physically punctured from Dean's reaction. "You don't like it?" he asked. His brows were shaking as though Cas was struggling to keep a straight face. Dean's heart plunged. "I - I picked it out specially for you. I thought you would look nice. I'm sorry..." His last words were so quiet Dean barely heard them. He felt like a giant prick.

"I - okay. I'm sorry, Cas. I'll go put it on."

Cas broke into a grin. "Thank you, Dean. The crown is on the nightstand next to my bed. You'll know it when you see it." He turned around swiftly and reached into the orange bucket to hand a Tootsie Roll to a miniature Frankenstein, who then piped up a high-pitched thank you. Dean, on the other hand, felt thoroughly and marvelously duped by his actor boyfriend. He still had a lot to learn.

When Dean walked back outside, he felt like even more of a prick. His tights were the oddest experience he'd ever felt, and the brown tunic he was wearing draped to his thighs. He was wearing no pants. The "crown" Cas had referenced was made of sticks and some kind of dried berries and leaves looped intricately and ludicrously together. Dean felt absolutely ridiculous. When he spotted Dean, Cas bit his lip to hold back a smirk.

"Alright, fuck this, I'm taking it off," Dean said immediately. He had one foot through the door and a mother was covering her son's ear in shock before Cas was pulling Dean back outside.

"Please keep it on," Cas said earnestly. "I think you look very endearing." He brushed his fingers over Dean's ear and straightened the crown that had gone lopsided in Dean's embarrassed rage.

Dean scowled. "I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to be," he complained. He didn't want to admit that Cas's tone and comforting hands were already changing his mind.

Cas remained thoughtful, quiet, and calm. "You're a woodland prince," he said. "And you look very endearing. Please, Dean. Please keep it on." Cas leaned close and gave Dean a soft kiss, and that was it. Dean was putty.

"You're lucky I love you," he said quietly, keeping Cas's face close. They actually did the sappy forehead touch thing. Cas grinned.

"I love you, too."

Dean kept the costume on even after they ran out of candy and went inside to watch horror movies.

 

 

 

The next half week was unbearable for Dean. He had a certain feeling of deja vu compelling him as Cas walked into their joint backyard one night to find Dean an absolute wreck. He was lying flat on his back, sobbing, staring up at the stars. Cas rushed over.

"Dean! What is it? What's happened?" Cas asked. He fell to his knees next to Dean, kicking up splotches of leaves as he slid. It took a few moments to get Dean coherent enough to explain.

"Fourteen years," he mumbled quietly, then hugged Cas close. Cas rubbed soothing circles on his back and cooed quiet "It's alright"s into his ear. "Dad fell off the wagon. Sam's locked himself in his room. I can't fucking handle it."

"Fourteen years since what, Dean?" Cas asked quietly.

"Since the fi-ire!" Dean yelled, his voice broken by a sob on the last word. Cas's heart began stuttering, and he pulled Dean even closer, until Dean was virtually sharing his lap. "Since I held my brother and my dad watched my mom burn..." His tears didn't feel hot; his eyes felt hot, and his tears like cold sweat pouring from him. It was Hell, what he felt. If this was what Gordon Walker had threatened him with, then Dean would become a monk. He couldn't handle it all.

"I'm going to stay with you all night," Cas said quietly. "I can't make it better, but I can be here until you do. I love you, Dean."

It was the early hours of the morning when Dean stopped crying. Neither of them went into school the next day.


	11. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a month after Cas and Dean have decided to keep their relationship a secret, and opening night is just around the corner.

Almost a full month after raking the leaves and Cas staying for dinner, things were going shockingly well. After his momentary relapse, Dean had gotten his father back off the drink. Cas and Dean's relationship was stronger than ever. The only person who they'd told had been Charlie, (who had been over the moon, a sharp contrast to the stony expression she'd given Dean the day she'd found out they'd broken up) and nobody seemed to be on to them. The month had been full of secret bathroom make out sessions, smirking at each other in the hallway, and taking turns staring at each other in study hall. Afterwards, at play rehearsal, Mrs. Patt was overjoyed that they had such superb acting skills, and was already promising Dean a one hundred for the quarter. She was also commending them for their admirable ability to look past the fact that they were both boys, and it was very difficult to keep a straight face and nod when she said that, because she sounded like such an idiot, emphasizing it when it wasn't even important. That was the whole point of the play, right? Dean could feel everyone in the room internally rolling their eyes.

Nobody even thought it was suspicious when Dean stopped flirting with girls. Apparently, it was quite a turn off when you played a gay guy on stage (for most people). Not that he cared.

Today was the day before opening night, however, and they were coming to a close, finishing up the last scene just as they were running out of time. Dean and Cas were dancing together, nothing special. Cas's hands were on Dean's hips, and Dean's hands were around Cas's shoulders. Dean (after he had found out Cas had been looking through his window. Now  _that_  was an awkward realization, and Dean had ended up calling Cas out on it by purposefully stripping in front of his window, then winking up at Cas before closing the shade) had signaled Cas to come down to his house at around three in the morning on Saturday night. Cas had, and then they spent three hours in Dean's room, quietly listening to music and dancing together. (Dean would have added some whiskey to the scenario, but John had emptied the house of any alcohol that wasn't for cooking or disinfecting.)

As Gabriel shut the curtains from off stage, Cas and Dean broke apart, acting like they wanted to put space between each other, when it was really quite the opposite. Dean tried not to stare at Cas's perfect face. He failed. But he was honest to god trying. It was actually amazing that they had managed to keep their secret this long.

"Alright everyone, that's a wrap, any questions? Remember, call time tomorrow is  _five o' clock_!" Mrs. Patt announced loudly, her voice filling the auditorium. Gabriel was opening the curtains again as she finished, "You can never know your lines too well! Everyone read over the script tonight! You can go now. Dean - clean up."

People began to grab their bags and disperse. Cas pretended to be preoccupied texting - if anyone ever asked, texting his family asking to get picked up - and sorting his things into his bag while Dean cleaned up backstage. As soon as everyone else had left, Cas would climb back (much to Dean's annoyance) and start to help putting things away. This was usually when they ignored their responsibilities and began to make out instead. That part definitely did not annoy Dean.

Today was no different. Cas hopped up on stage, back behind the dark green, almost black curtain, and grabbed a pair of forgotten prop glasses (Charlie's, he thought) and put them on the prop table at the back of the empty space. Dean was there, folding all of the disarrayed costumes that didn't belong on hangers. He felt rather than heard Cas approach, and his senses were confirmed when he felt warm fingers on the small of his back. Cas began to kiss the crook of his neck from behind.

"The light was shining on you when we were dancing," he breathed. "You looked so good."

Something hitched in Dean's throat. His eye lids grew heavy, and he sort of gracelessly tangled and dropped the shirt in his hands. He turned around, so Cas was now kissing the other side of his neck from in front of him, and Dean wound his hands around Cas's waist. Cas started to move up his neck, to his jaw line, until he reached Dean's mouth. By then, Dean almost couldn't breathe. Cas was too hot to be allowed to do that.

There was a sudden dab at Dean's lower lip, which he recognized as Cas's tongue, requesting entrance. He couldn't grant Cas's wish fast enough. After a month, Dean still was not tired of feeling Cas's tongue in his mouth, or the little nip on his lower lip as the other boy breathed heavily. It was sort of crazy, how much Dean needed to be around Cas. But Cas was the only person who had ever  _stayed_  just because he wanted to. Who had reached out to Dean, made the connection, and freaking cared about it.

Dean could feel his heart beating, pumping blood, could feel the blood gathering in his lower regions. It wasn't like the first time, when he'd wanted to back off for Cas. This time, he wanted to keep going. And this wasn't the first time he and Cas had gotten pretty far. They had been around each other's erections before, but had never actually done anything about it, by mutual agreement that they weren't quite ready for that yet. Dean remembered the first time he'd realized Cas had gotten an erection because of him, and started smiling into the kiss.

Cas broke apart for a second. "What?" he asked, moving his hands a little farther down Dean's sides, resting them on his hips, and Dean could feel Cas's bulge, feel him trying to hide the fact that he was practically grinding on Dean's thigh.

"I just like thinking about you," Dean muttered, breaking their contact of lips. He went instead for Cas's ear, darting his tongue out and gently biting the lobe. Cas sucked in a breath, much to Dean's personal satisfaction.

"Are you okay... if I - if I keep...?" Cas asked, clearly very distracted by the ever-growing constriction of his pants.

"Please," Dean whispered in his ear. "Have you ever...?"

"No," Cas admitted. "At least, not with somebody else." Dean's closed eyes were suddenly filled with visions of Cas jerking himself off, with closed eyes and round lips and wet hands all over his-

"Have you?" Cas finished, barely a whisper. But Dean could sense the insecurity in his voice.

He could lie and say he had. That was obviously the answer Cas was expecting, right? No, he'd almost been there with a girl, but then her dad had walked into the room and it had been all sorts of chaos, and had ended with Dean running down her driveway naked, darting into a bushes, and walking home with only pants. He was pretty sure that girl still had his favorite t-shirt, too.

"No," Dean answered, realizing that his mind had wandered way off topic, and that Cas felt infinitely better than - what had her name been?

Dean could feel Cas's incredulity, but it gradually subsided as he realized that his cock was actually on fire right now. And he was apparently grinding on Cas, too.

"How far do you want to go?" Cas asked.

"As far as you're willing," Dean gasped, as an especially sharp pang of want shook through him. Dean could taste that Cas was starting to sweat. He couldn't tell if it was from nerves or arousal or what, but it was actually really hot.

"Is this okay?" Cas asked, snaking his hand a little farther down Dean's thigh. Dean nodded, and he definitely didn't whimper a little. Cas's hand was so gentle, and so close. "What about... this?" Cas asked, bringing it to the inside, between Dean's legs, but not quite high enough. Again Dean nodded, breathing a little shakily with anticipation. "Can I...?"

Dean tilted his head back, eyes shut, nodding. He was holding a noise back in his throat, but as soon as Cas's hand made contact through his jeans, he let out a fucking moan. Cas started to rub Dean through his jeans, and Dean was going absolutely crazy. It was going to be embarrassing, at this rate, how quickly he would go. So he pushed Cas back, until the hit the wall, and let Cas hitch his legs up around Dean's waist. He was grinding, grinding so forcefully, so passionately, that it wasn't long at all for either of them.

Both of their pants were sticky on the drive home. At least the Impala was Dean's now.

 

  


  


Quarter to five the next day, Dean honked the horn before he pulled out of the driveway, a signal to Cas that he was getting ready to leave. He pulled out and stared at Cas's door, lighting up into a smile as he saw Cas practically running to his car. He was buckled into the passenger seat in a flash, grabbing Dean's hand.

"My fingers are cold, sorry," Dean said, using his left hand to drive.

"I'll warm them up," Cas muttered, pulling Dean's hand up to his lips and kissing them repeatedly. Dean didn't recall ever smiling for so long in his life.

It was hectic as soon as they got to the drama room, and Dean lost Cas in the flurry of panicking students who were all running around, putting on make up and scrambling to find bits of their costumes. Jo immediately found Dean and pulled him over to the make up station.

"Whoa, what the hell am I doing here?" he asked, looking around in confusion.

"Foundation... foundation..." she muttered, pulling up a few tubes with a tan liquid-cream-thing and holding them next to his face. "Yeah, that looks right." She pulled out a soft looking white thing and squirted the liquid on it, and Dean had just enough time to realize what was happening before one spot on his face was extremely cold.

"You're not making me a painted whore!" he screeched. "Get this shit off my face."

"Relax, Dean," Jo said. "It's just fucking foundation. Do you know how much shit girls go through every day? You can live through this. Now sit back and let me do my job." She pushed Dean back in the chair by the shoulders and began manhandling him again, spreading the sticky coldness all over his freckly face.

Dean sat back, stunned that Jo wasn't intimidated by him. He was a little proud of her, but definitely not at all happy about it.

The next few minutes were a blur, changing into costume and going over lines (because he had somehow managed to forget 90% of them in the span of thirty seconds.)

And then it seemed like five seconds later they were on stage, and Dean's hands were so sweaty, and he was trying to tell Cas with his face that he was sorry about that when they held hands, and somehow Dean couldn't even think straight enough to realize that the play was happening. The lights were bright, but it felt  _great_. It was the best kind of exhilaration he had ever felt.

And suddenly, they were at the last scene, and Dean was dancing with Cas. The curtains were closing, and damn it Cas was right about perfect lighting. His hair was shining, and his eyes were perfect, and Dean just  _couldn't wait_. The curtains had about ten feet to go, and that was when Dean started to compare himself to the entirety of the universe. Would it be  _that_ big of a deal if he didn't kiss Cas  _right now_?

Yes.

He leaned over and kissed Cas.

 

 


	12. The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exciting coda to this little adventure.

There was silence, and then Dean heard at least three people say, "Finally!"

He pulled away from Cas, looking around in confusion, just as the curtains opened up again. There was at first a stunned, polite applause. But then it started to build into a sincere applause, and then - no! The spotlight must have been blinding Dean. They weren't really getting a standing ovation?

Cas was smiling from ear to ear, pulling Dean along for the bows. The applause continued, with claps and shouts and whistles. Dean was actually afraid that he might go deaf. Cas was a godsend, holding onto Dean's hand so tightly and reassuringly like that, as they swept down in a huge, extravagant bow. And then Jo and Charlie and a few other students came up and bowed with them, and then the whole cast came up and did a huge bow. The whole time the applause didn't waver or stop. And then the curtain was closing again, and Cas was pulling Dean again, so he followed.

"That was incredible," said Cas. "You were amazing." He started to fiddle with the waistcoat buttons on Dean's costume, unable to look the other boy in the eye.

"You were better," said Dean. He wanted to kiss Cas again, but at that moment, Gabriel chose to swipe in and pull both Cas's and Dean's heads under his shoulders, whooping loudly. 

"Finally!" he yelled. "You know, we actually had a pool to see when you guys would get together! Opening night, I called it! I gotta go find Anna and Jo, they both owe me ten bucks. Way to go little bro, didn't know you had it in ya!" Gabriel finished with a noogie to Cas, then whooped again and ran off. Dean just smiled, almost like an apology for something he couldn't control.

Dean made once again to kiss Cas, but this time it was Charlie who interrupted them. "You guys! That was so ballsy! And awesome! Oh my GOD that was the coolest thing! Way to just fucking go out there!"

Dean cleared his throat. "Charlie? A moment alone here?" asked Dean politely, nodding slightly towards Cas.

"Oh! Yeah, duh, right! You guys have to sort out your feelings or whatever. That's cool. I'm gone," she said, running off to tackle Jo in her excitement. Once again, Dean turned to face Cas.

"So that was..." Den started, unable to come up with a sufficient word to fix the sentence. He began to fix Cas's hair back into its natural messy style. Cas hummed.

"Interesting," Cas supplied, with a slight tilt to his head as he spoke. "Are you going to kiss me now?" he asked.

"I was definitely planning on it," Dean assured him. Yet again, he was interrupted. Mrs. Patt came running over, arms flailing.

"Boys! Boys!" she cried. "What was that? What did you do that for? Did you feel like you needed to, because for the sake of art-?"

"It's okay, Mrs. Patt," Dean assured her. "That was just... real."

"Oh my... this play has turned you...?" she asked, her eyes widening in slight horror. Dean wanted to laugh until he died.

"No," Cas insisted, stepping in. "I liked Dean since before the play. We were dating while rehearsals were going on. It wasn't the play. It was just... lucky casting."

"Well, that was still uncalled for-"

"Didn't you say this play was about promoting equality?" Dean asked, slightly offended now.

Mrs. Patt was silent for a moment, struggling to come up with words. Finally, she turned to Cas. "Castiel, dear, there was a man who came up to me after the show to congratulate me on the performance. He wanted to speak with you. He said you don't know him, but he'd like you to meet him after you'd finished changing, if that was okay."

"Who is he?" Cas asked, wrinkling his eyebrows.

"He said his name was... what was it? Something Filbor, or something like that..." Mrs. Patt said, tapping her foot and trying to remember.

"Richard Filmore?" Cas asked, suddenly bouncing on his heels excitedly, eyes wide. He looked like he couldn't believe what was happening. Like a kid who learned Christmas was every day.

"Yes, that was it! How did you know?" Mrs. Patt asked. "He said you didn't know him."

"Of course I know him!" Cas nearly shouted. "He's a famous casting director! He's helped produce at least four of my favorite movies! Oh my God, is he really here?" Cas was still holding Dean's hand, but also still bouncing uncontrollably. Dean found it completely endearing, especially the excited gleam in Cas's eyes. It was magnified a thousand times, but it was the look Dean recognized that was on Cas's face when anything to do with acting was mentioned.

"I-I think so," Mrs. Patt said, obviously incredibly uncomfortable with a teenager being so creative and sentient. She obviously didn't see much of that in her class.

"Dean, come  _on_ ," Cas cried, pulling Dean out into the crowd of people who were waiting outside the auditorium. Cas was craning his head, and then suddenly stopped dead. "That's him. Oh my God, that's Richard Filmore. What is Richard Filmore doing here?" Cas's hand was incredibly sweaty.

"Go talk to him and find out," Dean said, pushing Cas towards the man in the suit, through the crowd of people milling about loudly. Cas gave a worried glance back, but ultimately seemed to decide that this could be his break. He pulled off the dress shirt he was wearing for a costume and handed it to Dean (he was wearing a white t-shirt underneath), then started walking.

Dean held it and watched anxiously, hoping to see good news being made. Cas looked so nervous, but also thrilled. They opened with a handshake, and then Richard Filmore was speaking, and then he was listening to Cas, and then he was speaking for a while more (Dean could tell that Cas was trying not to explode), and then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something. He handed it to Cas, and even from where he was standing Dean could identify Cas's shaking hands. They shook hands again, and then Dean could see that Cas wanted to run over to Dean, but he somehow managed to walk.

"So?" Dean asked, grinning widely, because he already knew that he was about to receive an ecstatic Cas.

"He said he's working on a new project," Cas said fast, his voice an octave higher than normal and extremely shaky, "like an actual movie. He was looking for new talent, and he said he'd been hearing my name a lot recently in local news, so he came down to see the play. He said he was very impressed by what he saw, and then he gave me his business card. He wants me to call him if I'm interested in auditioning for a movie. Oh my  _God_ , and actual  _movie_ , Dean!" Cas's eyes were bubbling with tears.

Dean couldn't help but acknowledge a little part of him that was incredibly sad. Cas had talent. He was going to be famous. And what was Dean going to be? A mechanic. Cas was going to go off to Paris every other week, and Dean would be lucky if he showered every other week. Not to mention, if Cas got his part, they wouldn't be able to spend the rest of their senior year together. But Dean was good at stuffing down his emotions, so with an incredibly convincing, "I am so happy for you Cas," he finally managed to get that kiss.

There was a sudden clearing of a throat, and Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He kept kissing Cas, because dammit, he had waited long enough. "Excuse me," came the voice again, and Cas immediately sprung away from Dean. "Are you Dean Winchester?" Richard Filmore was standing in front of Dean, smiling.

A small squeak escaped from the back of Dean's throat. "Uh, yes, sir, I am," he said, and stuck out his hand to meet Richard Filmore's. And then, he found himself saying the most ridiculous thing, "Did you enjoy the performance, sir?"

"Drop the sir, son," Richard Filmore said. His voice was kind of gravelly, but still kind. "Name's Richard Filmore. I loved the play. Thought it was phenomenal. Specifically thought that the leads were phenomenal. I'm going to tell you what I told your friend... boyfriend... here. I'm working on a new project a few cities over with a friend of mine, director James Phillip. We're looking for fresh faces. And kid, I can tell you, you've got real talent. I've got some business cards here. Have your parents call me if you're interested in an audition, but I'd really like to see more of you Dean. If you are interested, we can talk more details on the phone."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another business card, which Dean took with astonishment. Really, he couldn't feel his face. "Thank you, sir. No, wait, sorry, sir. Uh, sorry. Thank you, Richard Filmore."

"See you around, kid," said Richard, tipping up his hat like an old movie star. "Or, at least I hope I do." And then he turned and walked out the doors of the school, and Dean stood there, frozen, staring after him. He hardly realized that Cas was shaking him, finally letting out his happy shouts.

"Dean, we're - look at us! This could be it! We could be-" Cas was shouting.

Dean cut him off by turning abruptly and holding Cas to him, putting all of his emotions into a kiss. He was going to be auditioning for a movie. Cas wasn't leaving him behind. Not to mention, he was going to pass drama class. It was pretty much the best kiss ever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have this  
> biblesbilinski.tumblr.com/


End file.
